


Reaching For You From The Endless Dream

by nothinbuttherain



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: AU, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fix-It, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-10-22
Packaged: 2018-04-27 12:15:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 81,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5048188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothinbuttherain/pseuds/nothinbuttherain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike/Finn, canon compliant until it really, really isn't anymore. Basically this is just, if I had been a writer and had been allowed to make a 2 hour movie continuing just Finlay's storyline from the season 15 finale, this is what it would look like. Russell calls Mike a few hours after they find Finn in her apartment and tells him what's happened and the condition she's in. Mike flies down to Vegas to be with her and things unfold from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cataclysm

_ Part 1 – Cataclysm  _

Finding his eyes closing he gives himself a quick, hard shake, trying to jolt himself back to his sense. It’s not exactly surprising that he’s flagging, he tries to reason, dragging his fingers through his hair and suppressing a yawn, they’ve been up for two, three- he forgets- days straight with this damn Gig Harbour case coming back to bite them and he’s more than earned a little bit of rest. Which he’s unlikely to get anytime soon.

Sighing, he takes a moment to indulge in a low, hopeless groan at the large stack of paperwork waiting for him. As a rule, he tries not to leave the office with work undone, stewing and waiting for him to come back, where it will no doubt have somehow conspired to treble in size in his absence.

Though with the way he’s feeling right now, and the shift he’s just pulled, he’s seriously debating breaking that rule as he nods through the glass to one of his sergeants, who waves as they make their delighted bid for freedom, leaving him penned up in his fishbowl office with nothing but a thick ream of files for company.

Resignedly he starts searching his desk for a pen but has barely located it before he’s distracted by the phone at his hand as it starts vibrating hard against the wood. Eager for anything that will spare him from the tedium that’s come as an unfortunate side-effect of a job he otherwise loves, he grabs it up and checks the display, seeing Russell’s name flashing up in front of him.

Smiling slightly, he leans back in his chair, indulging in this respite, however brief, and takes the call, “Hey DB.” He growls lightly, shifting into a more comfortable position as he adds, “Everything’s all quiet on our end, we’ve got Winthrop’s mother in custody, everything’s all locked down on our end.”

“Good.” Russell mutters, somewhat vaguely. He sounds as exhausted as Mike feels, but there’s something else there as well, something that he can’t quite place.

After a few moments silence, he finds himself prompting gently, “What about Winthrop? Did you get the son of a bitch?”

“Yeah.” Russell’s voice breaks and he feels something catch in his chest and sits up straighter, his heart beginning to flutter a little faster, like an animal feeling stalked and threatened, hunted by something it can’t see yet but knows is there. “Yeah, we, we got him.” Russell says hopelessly and he can’t bear it anymore.

“What happened?” He asks softly. He’s known Russell long enough to know that something’s happened and he sees no point in dragging it out and dancing around it, that’s not doing either of them any favours, “What’s wrong?”

“Jules.”

That one word, her name, changes everything. Everything seems to stall, like a car who’s engine isn’t being fed enough fuel to make it run, cutting out and jerking to a halt. His brain jams, both thinking too little, blank and empty, uncomprehending, but at the same time thinking too much, all in a blur so that the only sense he can make out of any of it is the sick clench that twists his stomach.

His hands clench on the desk and it feels like someone’s shot ice into his veins, pumping it through him until he’s frozen on the inside and his heart has seized up and ground to a painful halt. His lungs are taut and stiff, unable to move, unable to breathe.

He needs to know. He needs to know what that means, what about Jules, what about the woman he gave so much too, that he could never fully take back. But he’s terrified too. He’ll walk into hostage situations alone with back-up on the outside, leaving him vulnerable and unprotected, he’ll walk into gunfire, he’ll take a bullet for his guys, for the people he’s supposed to protect, he’ll do all of that without a thought, without the kind of fear that a few words on the other end of a telephone call are inspiring in him now. 

Swallowing, he grips the edge of his desk hard, trying to brace himself, trying to steady his nerves, then he makes himself ask, his voice taut and brittle, “Jules? What, what about Jules? What happened?”

“Winthrop.” Is all Russell offers him, the word a bite, a curse, a damning and he feels for him, he knows this is hard, he’s had to deliver bad news to loved ones before and it’s the worst part of his job, the worst things he’s ever had to do in his life, he knows what this is costing but the selfish part of him doesn’t care, the selfish part of him just wants him to get it over with, to spit it out, to put him out of his damn misery.

“He, he targeted Jules.” Russell murmurs, his voice strained and barely audible now, “He broke into her house. He attacked her, he hurt her, he-“

He breaks off and lets Mike stew in that for a moment, now gripping the edge of the desk so hard that it’s painful and he half expects it to burst into splinters in his fist. None of this seems to make sense, he doesn’t understand it, he doesn’t understand how this could have happened, it doesn’t fit, it doesn’t work.

“Jules?” He finds himself whispering faintly, her name slipping from his tongue when nothing else will as he tries desperately to get a handle on things again and try and process what he’s hearing, “He hurt Jules? My Jules?”

In truth, she hasn’t been his Jules for years, but the words just slip out of him because it’s the only thing that seems to make any sense, that it’s not his Jules, that it’s someone else, it’s all happening to someone else because this can’t be happening to him. Not now. Not after everything.

“I found her.” Russell tells him hollowly, taking a great, shuddering breath, he backtracks, sounding confused and exhausted all at once, “Or, or I found her place. I saw what he’d done to her. Staged like all the others.”

He feels sick. Bile rises in the back of his throat and he wants it to stop, he doesn’t want to hear more, he doesn’t want to hear about the signs of struggle, the smashed ornaments and overturned chairs. He doesn’t want to hear about the strings dangling from the ceiling, the bloody fishhook on the floor. He doesn’t want to hear about the pool of her blood sitting on the floor of her home, her home, where she was supposed to be safe. He wants it to stop. He wants to hang up, end the call, fling his phone across the room and try and make himself forget that he ever heard any of this, that it ever rang, that any of this ever happened.

But he can’t. And he doesn’t. He sits there in silence, still gripping onto the edge of his desk as though it’s the only thing keeping him grounded and present right now, and maybe it is, as Russell goes on and on, telling him how Winthrop taunted him, told him she was dead, how he realised there might still be hope, two of his CSIs finding her in the trunk of a car in the garage below her apartment complex.

“So she’s okay?” He interrupts, unable to bear this any longer, “They found her and, and she’s going to be okay now, right?”

The silence that congeals between them in the wake of this sentence answers that question before Russell ever finds the words to.

“No.” He says finally, his voice shaking uncontrollably, “No, when they, when they pulled her out of the car she was, she was in a bad way, covered in blood...And they, they couldn’t find a pulse-”

“Oh my God.” His hand slips from the desk, the neat stack of papers falls to the floor, exploding and scattering all around his office but he barely sees them, almost slipping out of his chair to join them as he feels shock grip him, stripping him of any control, any awareness of his surroundings, any sense of being, nothing but numb disbelief overwhelms him and a strong surge of dizziness that puts him in danger of falling to his knees again, unable to grasp Russell’s words, to understand their meaning, to come to terms with the idea that she might be gone, unable even to _breathe_ in that moment.

So complete is his shock that he almost misses Russell’s hasty next words.

“She’s not, she’s not-“ Evidently Russell  can’t bring himself to say the word ‘dead’ any more than he can bring himself to think it and settles for saying instead, “She’s still alive, Mike.”

For the first time since Russell had told her they hadn’t been able to find her pulse, he manages to snatch a gasp of breath and uses it to choke out hoarsely, “But you said when they found her-“

“They were just in time.” He says, “She’s, she’s in a bad way, a really bad way. They took her into surgery a couple of hours ago and said they weren’t sure how she’d survived even this long.”

“She’s a fighter.” He finds himself whispering, a strain of fierce pride for her tempering his words, giving them more strength than they had on their own, “She’s a survivor.”

“Yeah...She is.” Russell admits, his voice wavering again, “But she, she went through a lot. They can’t say for sure if she’ll...There’s a good chance she won’t make it through this, Mike and I thought...I thought you should know before it came to that.”

His hand is clenched painfully tight again he realises and he finds himself nodding, his throat tight, his voice constricted and he can’t handle a second more of this phone call, he realises, “I, I have to go.” He finds himself stumbling over, “The second you hear anything about her condition you, you call me, okay?”

Russell promises he will and he disconnects the call the second he has that confirmation, tossing the phone away from him and back down onto the desk as though it’s poisonous, infected, contaminated.

Dragging his fingers through his hair he lets some of his frustration burst furiously out of him in a short, sharp howl, knowing that there’s no-one in the vicinity to hear him. Then he stops, the tips of his fingers pressing into his eyes as he takes several deep, slow, steadying breaths, trying to get himself under control again.

It doesn’t work. With his eyes closed and nothing to fill the empty black void behind his eyelids, his brain starts presenting him with a series of blurred, horribly distorted, violently vivid images, each more sickening than the last. Her home, the staged crime scene, the strings, the struggle, the blood, the blood, her crammed into the trunk of a car, her eyes wide, staring, glassy blank and dead.

His own eyes snap back open at that and he realises that he’s shaking uncontrollably, a cold sweat breaking out over his skin making him feel even more ill and feverish than he had been. All he wants to do is be at home, lie down in the dark and the quiet, sink into sleep and forget all of this, pray that when he wakes up it’ll be gone, it’ll all have been a lie, a nightmare, anything that stops him living in it. 

Anger rises in him next, displacing the cold dread, boiling in the pit of his stomach then flooding through his veins so hard and fast it hits him just as hard as the first blow. Every muscle in his body seems to contract past the point of endurance and he finds himself lashing out wildly against whatever happens to be in front of him, sending another cloud of papers rushing to the floor to join the first, like a flock of birds startled from a field by a violent gunshot tearing through the quiet.

How could this have happened? How could they have let that son of a bitch get near her? In her own home as well, she should have had protection, she should have had a detail on her round the clock. It would have driven her mad, he knows, she would have fought against it but Russell should have fought harder, he should have insisted, he should have kept her safe.

A hot surge of anger burns through him like untamed wildfire and his phone is actually in his hand again as he contemplates calling Russell again and demanding to know why this wasn’t done, why he let this happen, why that maniac was allowed to break into her house and assault her, nearly kill her, why he hadn’t done something to stop it but he stops himself, feeling suddenly sick again. Russell knows all that, Russell’s already torturing himself over every single one of those ifs whats and maybes, there’s no sense in making it work.

Guilt creeps in, a dense, thick, and heavy fog smothering the heat of his anger and making him slump back down in his chair, his fingers dragging through his hair once more, the phone tossed back onto the desk and forgotten.

Dragging himself to his feet, he bends down and gathers up the fallen papers once more, carefully sorting them back into their neat piles and folders, ready for him to go over when he’s able. The act calms him a little, helps his mind to start moving and processing again.

 It had always been that way with Jules, when they were married. If and when a fight broke out and a piece of crockery or decoration inevitably found its unwise way into her hands and against a wall in her rage and frustration, he had always been the one to pick up the pieces. There was something oddly relaxing in it, a strange sense of closure and, towards the end, the resigned feeling, tinged with ever increasing hopelessness that he could at least put this right, if not their relationship.

Returning to his desk, his papers in order once more, he slumps back into his chair, covering his face with his hands as something snaps in him without warning and all at once he crumples, unable to feel anymore, his body pushed to its breaking point with the emotions it’s been dragged through in the last few minutes, pitched violently between two poles until he finally broke.

It takes a long time of having his eyes closed, breathing deeply and focusing himself not to think of her, not to think of what happened to her, what Russell told him, all of those details, not to think of Winthrop’s face, hear his voice, his taunts, to block it all out so he can calm himself down somewhat enough to straighten out his head and think somewhat clearly again. 

 _She’s a fighter. She’s a survivor._ That was what he had told Russell on the phone, that was the only thing that had lifted his spirits at all during that conversation, those facts, that knowledge. If he was certain of anything in this world, he was certain of that. Julie Finlay was a fighter, she was tough, a tenacious little bulldog dressed in the misleading guise of a fragile kitten but he knew from experience she was anything but. She would get through this. She wasn’t dead. That sick son of a bitch had done everything in his power to make it so but she was still here, still fighting. She hadn’t given up and nor would he. She was going to be okay. It was all going to be okay.

He’s almost sure of that when he picks himself up and moves slowly out of his office.

*****

 


	2. Catching Smoke

_ Part 2 – Catching Smoke  _

After wandering blindly through PD, he rounds up the few stragglers on his team and orders them, in no uncertain terms, to get themselves home, look after themselves, have a bath, read a book, hug their partner, whatever they did to relax then turn in and get some rest.

Once he’s sure he’s taken care of his team, he heads back to his office, glances once, briefly, at the stack of files on his desk then resolutely turns his back on them, unable to face them, switching the light out behind them.

The drive home seems to  blur past him, leaving with a strange sense of not quite knowing how he managed to get back to his place as he fumbles with his keys and stumbles in. Cool, refreshing air and the comforting scent of home greets him when he walks in, enveloping him almost like the embrace of a lover, almost as warm, almost as welcoming and comforting.

Wandering into the kitchen, falling into a practiced rhythm, he pulls down a glass and then a bottle of whiskey, tosses a few ice cubes from the fridge into it and then pours a generous measure of the scotch down on top.

Closing his eyes and bracing against the counter, letting it take his weight as he sags into it, he raises the glass to his lips and inhales a measured sip, holding it in his mouth a moment, letting it burn his tongue before tossing it back, feeling it sting the back of his throat.

Moving sluggishly away from the kitchen he settles himself in his favourite armchair in the living room, trying to relax, even a little and let some of the tension ebb out of his body but it’s no good. Whatever he does, however hard he tries, he can’t stop thinking of her, flicking his phone on every few seconds looking for a missed call, a text, an email, anything that might indicate how she’s doing.

Exhaustion gnaws on the already frayed edges of his subconscious but he pushes it down with another long swallow of scotch. He can’t sleep, he knows that, he won’t until he knows how she’s doing, if she’s made it or....One way or the other he needs to know.

In vain he tries to interest himself in the TV, flicking from channel to channel but the voices seem too loud, the light filtering from it too bright and it just makes the steady pounding pain that’s beginning to build up behind his eyes, rising in a crescendo until with an irritable wince, he snaps it off.

He takes another small sip of scotch, trying to drag it out, not wanting more than one glass but not wanting to run out either. Sitting in silence for a few seconds, hearing the almost obnoxiously loud ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece, which he remembers with a jolt she bought him one Christmas or birthday years ago, marking the passage of time and wearing down his nerves to the core, like a steadily dripping tap, over and over and over again working away what little patience he has left, the relentless hammering of a sea against a cliff, eroding it back and back and back until he can’t bear it a second longer.

Standing up, he pads into the bedroom and lifts the book he’s been reading the past few nights and lifts the pair of reading glasses that sits on top of it, carrying both back into the living room and to his scotch. Settling himself on the chair once more, he slides the glasses on and finds his page.

After ploughing painstakingly through a few paragraphs then realising he’s read the same line three or four times without noticing or taking in any more meaning the last time than the first, the words starting to blur into one another and sliding from his eyes like oil from marble, he gives up, clumsily marks his place and tosses it down onto the table in front of him, peeling his glasses off as well a moment later to allow his hands free access to rub his aching eyes.

A few more minutes of painful silence and monotony later and he moves to his desk in the small study just off the main living room, flicking open some of the scattered pieces of work he’s allowed himself to bring home from him. Ten seconds of staring at the first page, pen in hand, is enough to tell him he doesn’t trust himself to fill in even this routine sheet, which comes across his desk six or seven times a day, and the pen, like the book and the TV remote, is tossed back down in hopelessness.

Balling the heels of his hands into his eyes he tries to think of something else to distract him and can’t. Giving up completely, he flees out onto the balcony for some fresh air and his very last resort. It takes a few minutes before he’s able to work loose one of the cigarettes hidden behind the lamp and the lighter he’s stashed nearby.

Getting it lit at last, he pockets the lighter and leans against the rail, letting it burn down for a few minutes before he leans in and takes a short, steady drag on it, coughing slightly, his lungs not used to the feel of smoke in them, the taste of it bitter after all this time. It’s been a long while since he’s been driven to such bad habits and, inevitably, as it always seems to when he comes out here and indulges in habit they shared and kicked, and dipped back in to when times were rough together, his thoughts turn to her, and for the first time, he freely lets them, hoping that if he bites the bullet and allows the dam to break now, it’ll be more bearable afterwards.

_Pen scratching over a report he’s been trying to complete for the last three days, he looks up instinctively at the sound of a dry, somehow intensely familiar little cough designed to get his attention._

_And there she is. Five feet, two inches of trouble with a CSI badge standing draping herself languidly across his doorframe and smiling serenely down at him, as though they do this every day, as though he’s somehow managed to fall back ten years in time._

_“Morning, Captain.” She says, laying a delicate emphasis on the last word as she wanders into the room, no doubt taking his silence as invitation, or, more likely, not needing any sort of invitation in the first place to do whatever she pleases._

_“CSI Finlay.” He responds in kind, though the words feel strange on his tongue, nodding at her._

_Watching her warily as she pads in closer to him, he wonders what the Hell can have tempted her to wander back into his office like she owns it. Eyeing his neat desk for a moment she seems to come to the conclusion that it’s too neat and sets about resolving this issue by selecting her favourite spot and perching up on top of it, settling herself there like she owns that too, her eyes watching him for a reaction but he knows her too well and he’s known her too long to protest in any way so he just shifts a few more files and pictures out of her way._

_“Well,” He begins, after taking another moment to weigh his options and the situation, “You still have a badge on your hip so you haven’t been fired again. Or have you?”_

_Her response to that is an achingly predictable and familiar scowl that she used to reserve just for him._

_“No.” She growls at him, her professional manner dropping away entirely now and they’re no longer Police Captain and CSI but...Well, whatever complicated personal relationship they have now, which no-one seems to have come up with a word for. “I have not been fired, Mike. Nice to see you still jump to the worst possible conclusions.”_

_“Damage control.” He informs her lightly, leaning back in his chair still curiously studying his ex-wife, “You need to get good at that in my job.”_

_“Well, I suppose that’s sort of why I’m here.” She says, tossing her hair back and, catching his raised eyebrows, “I’m just giving you a heads up on what we’re dealing with.”_

_“Yeah, what are we dealing with here, Jules?” He demands, attempting to move things along a bit and try and get some sense of what she’s doing here._

_Scowling again at the use of her name, she surprisingly decides to let it go without comment, just this once, and says instead, “The Gig Harbour Killer.”_

_Letting out a long, slow breath he nods slowly, “Yeah, I heard.” He’d been keeping up with the story unfolding in Vegas as much as he could since it had resurfaced again, “Figured you guys would be making a trip up here at some point.”_

_“Then couldn’t you have used some of those amazing detective skills you apparently have to figure out why I’m here? Instead of assuming I was fired.” She puts the kind of emphasis on that last word that tells him she’s not going to be forgetting about that slight any time soon._

_“Well see now anything’s possible where you’re concerned, Jules. I don’t like to try and guess what’s going on in that head of yours.” He tosses back evenly, his tone fairly level and neutral, wondering how she’ll take this._

_After a moment, her face relaxes into a grudging smile at that, as he’d hoped it would and she says, “And now you know.”_

_“Yep, now I know to brace for the end of the world hitting my city. Very considerate, thanks for the heads up on that.” He teases lightly._

_Narrowing her eyes at him, the effect of that somewhat ruined by the thin smile that’s still playing about her lips, she hops down off of his desk and heads for the door, which he catches her at, calling after her, “Jules?”_

_She turns, widening her eyes at him, inviting an explanation, “Just...Try not to get into too much trouble, okay?”_

_A feral little grin lights up her face at that and she pulls the door open, shaking her head and saying evenly, “I make no promises, Mike.”_

The cigarette has almost burned itself out by now, without him taking more than a few pulls on it and hasn’t helped to settle his nerves any more than anything else had that night. Resigned, he puts it out then heads back inside, on the verge of texting or calling Russell himself to stop all of this torturous waiting when the phone in his hand finally, finally rings.

Answering it immediately, he wastes no time in asking what’s been praying on his mind the past few hours, “How is she?”

Russell sounds extremely shaken and unlike himself when he answers, “She survived the surgery. Just.” He feels his chest expand, as though breaking free of the taut band around it, letting him breathe again at those words. As though sensing his relief, Russell warns him quietly, “But she’s in a bad way, Mike. A really bad way, she hasn’t even come round yet, they’re running tests...”

He makes his decision then and there on impulse and without really pausing to consider it for more than a few seconds, he finds himself blurting out over Russell’s spiel listing various different medical tests and their purposes, each sounding more terrifying than the last, “I’m coming.”

That throws Russell off a moment, “What do you-?”

“I’m going to get on the next flight to Vegas. I, I want to see her, I want to be with her, I-“ He breaks off, massing his temples, struggling to find words, finally, all he says is, “I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay?”

Russell seems to sense that there’s no sense in protesting this now that his mind is made up and just hollowly wishes him a safe flight, sounding relieved that he’s getting a little support on this end, he thinks. 

Making a few quick calls to tidy things up here and explain briefly what’s happening and where he’s going and why, he then books a ticket and pads into the bedroom and starts packing a bag with a few essentials he’ll need for the trip and a stay over in Vegas.

It feels good to be _doing_ something, even if it’s not directly making a difference or helping her, it calms him a little, makes him feel more in control of the situation. Anything to stop him sitting here for days on end, barely daring to sleep in case Russell calls with news. He has to be there with her, by her side, he has to see her, he has to know.

He’s ready to go in less than an hour having packed, taken a quick shower and changed into something a little more comfortable for the flights, he heads to the airport, his head still pounding faintly as he flags a taxi and leans back into the seat, closing his eyes and remembering then how tired he was a few hours ago as he sat at work, debating whether or not to do his paperwork. It all seems so long ago, so hollow, so pointless in the face of everything that’s happened since.

Fortunately, he doesn’t have too long to sit stewing in the airport and isn’t delayed. The flight leaves exactly when it was meant to and, as ever on flights, he tries in vain to make himself comfortable. He tries to get some sleep, knowing that he’ll need it, but he drifts in and out, already worked up with worry about her and he finds himself waking with every bump and jolt of the plane. 

He’s never been a great fan of flying, which was something she used to tease him about whenever they went on holiday together, asking him if he wanted her to hold his hand, which she invariably would, talking away to him and trying to take his mind off things a little. Here and now all he can do is shove headphones into his ears and try and block everything out, closing out and swallowing hard, trying to stop himself from worrying about her on top of all of this. 

 _She survived the surgery._ He reminds himself forcibly. _She made it through that when they were sure she should be dead already. She’s a fighter. She’s a survivor. She’s going to be okay. She’s going to be fine. She has to be. She has to be..._

****

 

 


	3. Ghost Watch

_ Part 3 – Ghost Watch  _

Vegas is supposedly beautiful by night, but all he sees from the taxi on the way from the hospital is a blur of blinding neon lights that do nothing but worsen his headache as they blur past his window, dazzling everything, revealing nothing and it’s with relief that he stumbles out of the stuffy taxi and towards Desert Palm hospital.

Wandering up to the desk it takes him a moment to get the words out, his head feels thick and heavy, his thoughts sluggish, the after-effects of exhaustion and stress, but finally he manages to say in a thick, hoarse voice, “I’m here to see Julie Finlay.”

“Certainly, sir.” The receptionist replies, checking the computer in front of her, glancing up at him every few moments, “Can I ask your relation to Ms Finlay?”

That throws him for a moment, “I, uh, I’m her...”He falters at that, not quite knowing what he is to her anymore, every word that initially comes to mind seems too big or too small to encompass their relationship and his desperation to see her, to make sure that she’s alright, to tell her that she’s going to be alright.

“I’m family.” He says finally, a decisive, almost defiant note in his voice. 

He’s not sure if that’s what she’d classify him as anymore, he reflects as he’s lead through the grim, sombre and largely silent hospital, along a path he knows he’s not taking in and won’t remember later, but it was the only thing that felt right for him in that moment and they’re leading him up to see her, which is all he had wanted.

Russell’s sitting in the waiting room, looking around for him and crosses to the room to shake his hand when he crosses over to greet him. Neither of them bothers with small talk about how his flight was or if he got here alright, they’ve known each other too long for that, and they know too well that all he wants to talk or think about right now is her.

“How is she?” He croaks hoarsely, making no move to sit down anywhere, wanting to go straight from here to her room to see her for himself.

The little colour that Russell had managed to keep in his cheeks drains slightly at that question and he shakes his head, meeting his eyes when he says quietly, in a hollow, deadened sort of voice, “It’s bad, she’s...She’s in a bit of a mess.” He swallows and grips his hand a little more tightly, “Maybe, maybe give it a couple of minutes?”

“No.” He says, too quickly. Forcing himself to make his tone a little softer and steadier he repeats, more calmly, “No, I just, I just want to see her.”

Nodding and looking as though he’d expected this and makes no further move to try and dissuade him or stall him any longer, just takes his bag and points him towards a closed door a little way off from the waiting room.

“I’ll give a few minutes alone with her.” Russell murmurs quietly and he nods in thanks, words failing him, his mouth and throat suddenly feeling dry as the desert beyond them, “Give me a shout if you need anything.”

Taking a deep breath, he steps out into the cool corridor beyond, eyes fixed ahead on the door Russell had pointed him towards, feeling himself shaking slightly but he makes himself put one foot in front of the other and walk steadily towards it.

Pushing the door open gently, he makes his way inside and feels his breath catch painfully in his chest again, brought on by the sharp intake of breath that had burst from him at the sight of her. His legs are threatening to give out from under him as he staggers a little, clutching at the door frame beside him for support as he sags against it, unable to take his eyes from her.

Rage and grief and sorrow and horror all try to flood his system at once and it’s too much, too much to try and handle, too much to try and process too much. A part of him wants to turn, flee back out into the cool, silent corridor beyond and collapse against the wall, fight back the urge to be sick, and try to forget what he’s seeing in front of him but he can’t, he can’t leave her, not like this. 

Russell had been right, she is in a bad way, and he should have taken a few minutes to brace and compose himself before he had come in here. Taking several deep steadying breaths he lifts his eyes from his knees to fall on her again.

“Oh, Jules.” He whispers faintly, his throat tightening painfully, meaning he has to choke the next words out past it, “Oh God, Jules.”

Unable to think or feel or comprehend what’s going on, he lets instinct drive him, and instinct pushes him towards her, seeking to shelter her, to hold her, to protect her, keep her safe and never let anyone or anything in this world ever hurt her again.

The tangle of wires and tubes that attach her to various machines clustered around her bed, pumping various fluids into her, drugs pushed into her veins to manage her pain, a long tube in her mouth, down her throat, into her lungs, breathing for her, keeping her alive. It terrifies him.

There’s no denying any of this, no escaping any of this, no retreating back into false insistences about how strong she is, about how okay she’ll be. This is the god honest truth right here in front of him, as indisputable as her blood drops at a crime scene and what it’s telling him here is that she’s clinging onto life by a fraction and no more.

 All of the apparatus designed to keep her with them dwarfs her. She looks so tiny, so delicate and fragile and he hates himself for thinking that because he knows that she would hate it too but he can’t help himself. When she had pressed up against him in bed or on the sofa before, a thousand years ago, she had always felt small nestled in beside him but otherwise it was so easy to forget.

 Her larger than life personality projected into any room swamped that of anyone else’s and in any light a mouse would become a lion, the faintest breath of wind a hurricane. She had been a force of nature and a force to be reckoned with. Reckless and unpredictable there had been more than one occasion he had been terrified for her, scared she was going to get herself hurt and they had fought about it, but he had never been under any illusions. She could and would take care of herself, that had never been up for debate as far as she had been concerned.

But she had never looked like this, so frail and helpless, unconscious and being kept alive by who knew how many machines beeping and sighing and humming around her. It’s wrong. It looks wrong, it feels wrong and so much so that for one moment of blessed, blinded relief, he wonders if he’s in the wrong place, if this is some other poor woman but not Jules, not his Jules, always so tough, so strong, so full of life and fight.

It is her though. It is happening to her. It is happening to him and the anger that had burned through him a moment later seeps out of him as exhaustion and grief sneak up to displace it. Closing his eyes and taking several more deep, calming breaths, he manages to compose himself enough to move away from the door and into the room, drawing a chair from the corner and setting it carefully beside her bed, settling into it at her side.

Shaking slightly, his movements achingly tentative and slow, making sure he doesn’t dislodge or disturb anything that might hurt her, he reaches out and tenderly slips his hand into hers, wincing at how cold it is. She had always been a little freezer when they were married, and used to take great delight in slinking into bed beside him and pressing her cold feet and hands against his warm skin, giggling hysterically when he yelped in surprise and dismay and sprang away from her.

Licking his lips and looking around him, her hand still clutched in his, he tries to find something to stop his heart racing and calm him down enough to be able to speak to her. At close quarters she looks even worse than she had from the doorway, her head in bandages, bruises and cuts peppering her skin in a way that tells his practiced eyes that she put up a fight, that she struggled with him before he overpowered her.

Swallowing hard past the lump that’s swelling in his throat again, he gives her hand a little squeeze and somehow that helps and he finally manages to say softly, “Hey, Jules.” His thumb moves lightly back and forth on the top of her hand as she lies there, immobile and expressionless, her chest rising and falling in a steady, exaggerated rhythm in time with the ventilator behind him. 

Faltering slightly he lets his breath out slowly past his lips, closing his eyes then forcing himself to keep going for her, “It’s me, Mike, I, I’m here.” Pausing again he says in a rush, “I hope you don’t mind, I, I didn’t think you would, me coming here, I mean but I...” Squeezing her hand again he goes on, his voice hoarse and faint he can barely hear it himself over the steady beeping of the monitor connected to her heart, “Russell told me what happened.” He begins again, his words coming in shaky fits and starts with no rhythm or sense to them, just tumbling from him to her “And I, I just wanted to see you, I wanted to be here with you I, I didn’t want to feel alone, to, to feel like you had to go through this alone.”

Feeling something snap inside him as he looks up at her again and takes in the mess she’s in more fully than he had before, his voice trembles and wavers and cracks as he tries to say lightly, “I thought I told you not to go getting yourself into trouble.”

Tears sting at his eyes and he brushes them away impatiently with the hand that’s not still holding hers. His throat constricts too tightly for speech and he lowers his gaze to her hand, resting at her side, that his fingers are twined around. It takes several minutes for him to pull himself together this time, his breathing ragged and shallow, his heart pounding painfully against his ribs.

Finally, he manages to take a deep breath and say softly, “It’s going to be okay you know. _You’re_ going to be okay, I promise.” He resumes his soft, absent stroking at the top of her hand, as though trying to reassure and comfort her, the way he did on the nights she huddled up against him, shaking, her breathing laboured, her eyes wide and scared.

“I’m here with you.” He murmurs softly, “Right here. Russell too. They’re going to take really good care of you, you’ll be up on your feet and giving the nurses Hell in no time, wait and see.” Pausing for another slow, shaky breath, he goes on softly, “Your team got Winthrop, he’s in custody, he can’t hurt you or anyone else ever again, you’re safe now, you don’t have to worry about that. You just...You just focus on getting better, alright?” Nodding his head he squeezes her hand once more, lifting it to his lips and softly kissing it as he whispers, “Just get better, okay? Please...Please...”

Doctors and nurses drift in and out as he sits with her, making small adjustments to some of her drips, checking her vitals and the bandages around her wounds, updating her chart. None of them linger long, but initially he asks a few quick questions about her condition and the prognosis while they work. There’s nothing they can tell him; which is the answer he gets to most everything he asks, they’ve done all they can, it’s up to her now. He thanks them dully but after a while stops asking, focusing instead on her.

He can’t seem to let go of her hand, keeping it sandwiched between his the whole time he sits with her, not wanting to release her, feeling as though this connects him to her somehow, that, even if she can’t hear him, she can feel his touch, knows that he’s here with her, that she hasn’t been left alone.

After a while, he manages to stop himself fussing with her sheets and blankets, smoothing them down, fluffing up her pillows, murmuring quiet nonsense to her, just to fill the gaping silence as he becomes increasingly deaf to the rhythmic sounds of the machines.

Exhaustion creeps in on him like darkness quietly claiming an evening sky. He’s barely slept at all in the past few days and while all he wants to do is stay here and watch her in case something goes wrong, in case she shows signs of coming round or needing his assistance, he can’t fight the longing pull of sleep much longer and he feels himself drifting inexorably into it.

Giving himself a shake, he keeps waking himself up, jolting himself out, making himself stay awake and watching her, telling himself in a minute, in a minute he’ll go, back to the waiting room or maybe even to a cheap hotel nearby if he can stand the thought of leaving her, just get a couple of hours and come back to her. But not right now, in another minute, another, another.

In the end, he falls asleep in the chair beside her bed, still holding her hand.

****

 


	4. False Hope

_ Part 4 – False Hope  _

His dreams are twisted and dark, more disturbing than restful and Russell wakes him several hours later with a jolt of surprise and it takes him a few moments to get his bearings again and remember where he is and what’s happening. The sight of her small form on the bed before him brings it all back with an unpleasant feeling reminiscent of being punched hard in the stomach and it takes him another moment or two to recover from that and finally look round at Russell.

“Sorry.” He mutters tautly, giving himself a little shake and a stretch, trying to wake his body up, “It’s been a long  couple of days I just...”

“It’s okay, I understand.” Russell says, waving away his attempt at an apology and explanation, “You should get your stuff together, find a hotel, grab another couple of hours of sleep while you can.”

“No.” He says at once, shaking his head and finding himself gripping a little more tightly onto her hand, “No, I, I’ll stay, I, I want to stay with her.” He murmurs, glancing back up at her as he says this, knowing that he can’t leave her, not yet, he’s not ready for that, “You should go.” He says, nodding up at Russell, “Go home, be with Barbara. Let the team know how she’s doing, they’ll be desperate for news, you should go see them in person, call a family meeting to fill them in. Then go home and look after yourself. I’ll look after her while you’re away.”

Russell nods absently, swaying on the spot as if about to leave but changing his mind half way through the motion, “How long are you planning on staying here?” He asks quietly, as though reading his mind.

Glancing up he says softly, “I think I’d like to stay with her a little while. I have plenty of vacation days banked up, it shouldn’t be a problem. And, I, I want to help take care of a few things for her, ease the load a little for you.”

“You don’t have to do that, Mike.” Russell protests quietly, shaking his head.

“No, I do.” He murmurs, his voice quaking slightly, “Please, I, I want to be able to do something for her, to help her.”

He needs to feel useful. Sitting here a little while longer with her is all very well, but he wants to be able to help get some things sorted out, feel as though he’s actually doing something instead of just sitting here listening to seconds trickle by at the same rate the drips suspended around her feed her fluids, waiting for her to open her eyes, he needs something else.

Russell seems to understand this and nods, “Okay.” He says slowly, “Okay, I’ll head home, check in with Barbara and the team, sort some things out then I’ll head back here and we can work out what’s going to happen from there.”

He nods and stands up briefly to shake his hand before he leaves. Once the door closes behind him and he’s watched him out of sight down the corridor, he sinks back into his seat by her bed, taking up her hand again and giving it another little reassuring squeeze.

****

Russell returns several hours later looking a little less harassed and a little more refreshed which he takes to be a good sign. He pulls out a chair and sits by her bed as well and he can’t help noticing the way his eyes flicker towards her every few minutes as they talk and then just as quickly dart away, as though he can’t bear to see her like this.

“D.B.” He interrupts at one point, making the other man falter mid-sentence, looking away from her yet again, “You know this wasn’t your fault, right?” He says quietly, watching him for a reaction, knowing then that no-one has said this to him yet and that someone badly needed to. “What happened to her, it wasn’t your fault.”

He lets out a faint, hollow laugh in response to that, “How could it be any less my fault?” He demands flatly, “Winthrop attacked her because of her relationship to me, because I loved her and he wanted to hurt me the way we hurt when we took his brother away from him.” He shakes his head, grief-stricken, “I painted a target on her back and then I, I didn’t even do anything about it. She should have had a protective detail, she should have had people on her condo, I should have checked with her more often after what happened in San Diego. If I had done that, any of that, if I had even gone to get her sooner she might not, she might not be in this state.”

“Hey,” Mike leans forwards and grips his shoulder firmly, giving it a gentle shake, “She’s going to pull through this.” He asserts firmly.

Russell looks up at him with tortured eyes and then turns to her, shaking his head and murmuring to his hands, “What if she doesn’t?”

“She will.” He repeats as forcefully as he can, as though he could make it so just by saying it often enough, “She has to.” He breathes, trying, not altogether successfully, to keep the note of desperation out of his voice, “She’s going to wake up, she’s going to recover, everything’s going to be okay.”

Russell’s gaze just drifts away from his to linger on her again and he knows what this is costing him, how much he despises this, how much he’ll blame himself whatever he or anyone else says to him. This is something he’ll carry with him to his grave, whatever the final outcome. 

“Look,” He says bracingly, “You stay with her for a little bit, I’ll go back to her condo and pick up a few things that she’ll want when she wakes up.”

Russell looks up sharply at that suggestion and warns, “No-one’s been in that apartment since it was released as a crime scene, it’s still...It’s still a mess, no-one’s been in to tend to it yet.”

Swallowing, he tries to keep his voice level as he says firmly, “All the more reason someone go and get that sorted. And there are things she needs, can you imagine her waking up and realising we haven’t brought her a single thing to read or her iPod?”

He had hoped that would wring a smile out of Russell, however small, but he just shakes his head and says softly, “That’s not something you want to put yourself through, Mike. Get someone out to clean it then pick up what you need to, it’s not something you want to see.”

But he shakes his head, “You know how long those cleaning companies can take, she’ll need things before then, for when she wakes up.”

Russell opens his mouth to say something then seems to change his mind and closes it again, nodding shakily and glancing back up at the bed, “I’ll wait with her.” He says quietly, handing him a key, “Call me if you need anything at her place.”

Mike nods and gathers his things together, “You call me if her condition changes her too, alright?” Russell nods in agreement and the two of them part ways again.

It takes him a little while to manage to navigate back down to reception again, not having been paying attention the other night when they led him in and up to her room for the first time, something he knew he’d regret.

The air outside is cool and crisp, not yet having risen to the scorching temperatures he knows it would have hit earlier in the day, for which he’s thankful. It might rain a lot in Seattle, but he’d take that over the endless dry heat of the desert any day, it’s too oppressive and smothering and he can barely think or work in it. 

Flagging down a taxi, he clambers into it and gives the driver her address, leaning back into the seat and closing his eyes a moment, feeling his heart contract slightly when the first image his brain presents him with is that image of her lying unconscious and helpless on the bed before him. He gives himself a little shake. She went through a lot, the son of a bitch nearly killed her, she had no pulse when they found her, it was a miracle she survived it at all, of course it’s going to take a little bit of time for her to recover from that. Her condition is bad now, but she’ll get better, she’ll be awake and up and about in no time, he’s sure, and they need to start making plans for that.

He nods in thanks to the taxi driver when they arrive then makes his way up, counting doors until he finds the one he’s looking for. There’s still a small piece of cut crime scene tape stuck to the door and the frame and he reaches out with slightly shaking hands, peeling it off and crumpling it up in his fist.

 Taking a deep breath and bracing himself, he slides the key into the lock and pushes inside. As Russell had warned him, the sight inside is brutal and grim knowing what he was walking in to, he can’t image how it must have been for Russell that first time, not knowing what he was about to find inside and then walking in to _this._

There are clear signs of struggle in the corner, and though all of the strings have been taken down, he can still see the marks in the walls and floor where they were. A shadow of a blood pool remains, marking the place where she finally fell and was left to bleed out on the floor while he started to ‘process’ the scene. 

It takes a few moments for him to recover himself from the shock of what he’s saying and the, now familiar feeling, of the surge of rage and fury for the man who caused all of this burns briefly through him before he masters the impulse.

He’s stood in hundreds crime scenes like this over the years, thousands, but that doesn’t make a difference now. In fact it makes it worse. His eyes are trained to find points of interest, points that she would have found as a CSI, blood, smashed objects, dents or scratches in the walls and his head plays out the whole thing and he watches without wanting to, while actively not wanting to, Winthrop attacks her.

Clenching his fists tightly he makes it stop and moves off through the darkened apartment, looking for the bedroom, away from the grisly sight at the door, but his attention is caught by the huge, floor-length windows on the opposite wall and he crosses to them, looking out on the same view she must have looked out on so many times before, Vegas as it starts to stir from its daytime slumber, the lights flickering on all along the strip, bursting into life all around him as he watches.

A little further along on the same expanse of windows he finds something that can’t fail to make him smile. Taped up to the windows beside the cross-trainer in the corner are a number of what he recognises instantly, even from a slight difference, as graphic crime scene photos, all featuring blood of some sort.

Shaking his head, he remembers the little arguments they used to have over them. She insisted that it helped her work, helped her think, that keeping them taped up all over the house was a good thing, because something she hadn’t seen before would catch her eye on the way past and that would crack the case. He had grumbled that that was all very well and then proceeded to show her the cuts on his jaw where his razor had slipped shaving after, half-asleep and expecting to see his reflection in the mirror, he had been confronted with the altogether alarming picture of a decomposing corpse instead.

Jolting himself back into the present, his eyes fall on the remains of the crime scene behind him and he digs around in his pocket for his phone, deciding to call a cleaning company now to have it professionally seen to. After a string of phone calls and negotiations conducted by her window, he pockets his phone satisfied that it’ll be dealt with to his satisfaction then he moves through the rest of the house, looking for her bedroom.

Once he finds it he steps inside and turns on the light, glancing around until he finds a bag that will suit his purposes which he rests open on the bed, wandering around to her drawers, opening them and picking out clothes for her, casual and comfortable ones he knows she’ll like to wear in her downtime.

After he’s carefully packed her clothes, he finds her iPod and a few toiletries then starts picking through a few boxes in the corner marked _books_ in her large, bold hand and he starts rummaging through it, picking some and discarding others, narrowing down a little pile for her to read while she’s recovering in the hospital, stop her from climbing the walls before they’ll let her leave.

As he reaches the bottom of a box, he finds a leather bound photo album with the year _2006_ on the front in neat gold letters. Curious now, he abandons his search for quality reading material for her  he sits back on the floor, settling the album on his lap and flipping it open to the front page.

The first picture his eyes light upon is of the two of them standing side by side on a beach somewhere, Greece, he thinks, both holding ice creams, with him blushing happily since she’s just scrambled onto the bench beside them in order to kiss him on the cheek, her arms around her neck to stop her toppling off.

A slightly painful smile tugs at his lips as he scans the other holiday photos, flipping through the pictures with a bittersweet air, looking at her now in these pictures so bright and vibrant, more often than not teasing him or kissing whatever part of him she could reach, meaning that in a lot of the pictures he looks like hunchback since she’s irritably tugged at his shirt to make him lean down to her.

Flipping on another few pages he stops dead as it falls open on their wedding day. He stares slowly from picture to picture, tracing a few with the tip of his finger. They both looked so _happy_. She’s beaming at him or laughing in almost every picture, even the ones that were taken of their kiss during the ceremony he can see her smiling against his lips as she nestles in against him. The look in his eyes every time they fall on her brings back, if possible, even more for him than her smiles, his hands around her waist, always pulling her in closer to him, never able to have enough of her.

Dragging his fingers through his hair he gently closes the album, wondering how they managed to get from that to the places they’re both in now, wondering how different things might have been if they had never separated at all. She wouldn’t be lying unconscious in a hospital bed for one thing...

Pushing those thoughts out of his head and deciding he’ll take a little time later to try and sort out the confused tangle of emotions that inspired and work out how he feels about everything, he scoops up the album and fishes out another few from the box, packing them as well on impulse and collecting up another few, more recent, framed ones from around the house that he can put up in her room to brighten things up for her a little.

Once he has her bag all packed for her, he takes one last sweeping look around her condo, trying to think of anything he might have missed then ducks back out and finds a cab to take him back to the hospital to her.

Two or three minutes out, he spies a little flower shop on the corner and asks the driver to let him out there, thinking that a nice bunch of flowers will help brighten the place up for her as well. By the time he wanders back into the hospital again he’s in better spirits than he has been since he first heard the news.

When he finds his way back to her room however, Russell looks grimmer and somehow more haunted and hollow-eyed than he’s ever done before which he doesn’t understands as he starts setting out her flowers and trying to explain the things he’s brought for her.

Unable to bear this, it seems, Russell cuts him off, his voice flat and dead as he catches him by the arm to make him stop and listen to what he’s saying. “They did a couple of tests while you were out.” He explains shakily, his face chalk white now that he comes to see him up close, “She’s been unresponsive to all of them.”

Mouth dry he takes a few attempts at asking, “So what, what does that mean, exactly?”

Clearly struggling, Russell stalls a little, “She, she suffered a serious head wound, lost a lot of blood, her heart had stopped when they found her, she-“

“What does it mean?” he interrupts, his voice brittle, needing to hear him say it, needing to know now. 

“It means...It means that they can’t say when she’s going to wake up or...or _if_ she will.”

He stares, uncomprehending, looking from Russell to Jules and back again, unable to believe what he’s hearing, “You’re saying...You’re saying she’s in a coma?” He rasps hoarsely, the rest of the books in his arms spilling out hopelessly onto a nearby side table as he struggles to process what Russell’s saying.

He nods wordlessly as Mike sinks into the chair behind him, covering his face with his hands, his body shaking uncontrollably, braced up against her bed. Taking several minutes to try and compose himself he takes a deep breath and looks up at Russell, his voice trembling slightly as he tries to project calm confidence into it, “So she just, she just needs a little more time, that’s all.” Reaching out he gently takes her hand in his, as cold as it was the first time he took it between his own, making it harder to maintain a falsely bright attitude now, “She went through a lot, that’s going to take time to heal but she, she’ll be okay, she’ll wake up soon we just need to be patient with her, that’s, that’s all, she’s still going to be okay.”

****

 


	5. Leaving Las Vegas

_ Part 5 – Leaving Las Vegas _

Turning back to peer into her room, he grits his teeth and tries to suffer what’s been hurled down the phone at him with a little more grace than he’s currently receiving.

“I know I came out here a few weeks ago.” He sighs, cutting the other man off, “And I know that I was supposed to be back by now but things...Things happened that were a little unexpected, I’m just trying to deal with them I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

In response to that he gets a curt, unsympathetic demand as to how much longer things are going to take. Glancing sadly over his shoulder at the room he’d just vacated to save upsetting her, he wishes he knew the answer to that. Rubbing the back of his neck he growls shortly, not wanting to share any of his problems with this jackass, “I just need a few more days, okay.” Praying that that is all he’ll need.

“That _is_ all.” He’s informed tartly, “Then you need to come back or else we need to start discussing other options.”

The line goes dead and he curses into thin air, leaning against the wall behind him and sighing, eyes closed, taking a few moments to compose himself before he turns around and slips back into her room, settling into the chair beside her and nudging it in a little closer.

Leaning forward, he gently picks up her hand again, stroking it gently as his brain seems to batter itself against the inside of his skull, wrestling with the rather thorny issue that has become work. He knew when he came out here to begin with that he couldn’t stay here forever, he had accepted that, but the thought of leaving her when she’s still so gravely ill is more than he can bear to even think about right now. 

He has to admit that she is looking a little better. Some of the bruises have faded now and almost all of the swelling has gone down. They had taken her off the ventilator while he clutched desperately at her hand, heart in his throat, but after a moment’s panic she had settled again and managed to breathe on her own. After that had happened he had taken it as a clear sign that she was healing, that she was getting better, that she would be awake and back with them in a few days.

That had been almost a week ago however, and though she clearly is healing, physically but she’s still unresponsive to all of the tests that they’ve run and they’re no nearer to saying when she might wake up.

That’s all he wants, really, just a little longer to see her wake up, open her eyes, give him one of those trademark smiles of hers, that’s it. He just needs a little bit longer, he can’t leave her like this, he just wants her to come back to him, then he wouldn’t feel so much like he’s abandoning her when she needs him most, leaving her here alone with no company day in and day out. He knows that Russell will visit as often as he can, but he can’t be here with her all the time. But all he wants is to see her wake up, he could go after that, but for now...

Russell’s words the night he had come in after visiting her apartment drift back into his head, unbidden and unwanted then, _they can’t say when she’s going to wake up or...or **if** she will._ He gives himself a little shake. She will, of course she will.

But it’s getting harder and harder to convince himself of that as each day that slips post provides no change in her condition at all. It’s hard not to be frustrated and angry with the situation when she’s making such good progress everywhere else, her wounds are all healing nicely with no complications, she’s just still lost to him.

When he had first heard the news, he had balked at it. Even if she was in a coma, it was never going to be a question of ‘if’ only ever of ‘when’ he had been quite sure. She just wasn’t going to wake up on anyone’s time but her own, when she was good and ready to. But she wouldn’t be like this forever, anyone who thought that didn’t know Jules. They had no idea how tough she was, how stubborn, how strong.

But time has preyed on his certainties, chipping away at them day by day and piece by piece until he’s been left stranded and feeling like he’s inches away from drowning in doubts and sinking into grief again, sure that he’s going to lose her, that she won’t wake up, that...

He gives himself a little shake, trying to force himself to stop overreacting to this, glancing back up at her again, softly stroking the top of her hand with his thumb. She’s looking so much better, she’s healing so well, she can’t go through all of that, she can’t fight off death in the trunk of that car where she was left to bleed out and then the surgery they were so sure would kill her. Surely she can’t go through all of that only to never wake up again. She has to. She has to. Please. Please.

But unless she wakes up in the next few days, he’s not going to be able to be with her. Work needs him back, and they’ve made it perfectly clear that they need him back now. He’s not going to be able to stay with her. And it’s unfair, unbearably so, he can’t just leave her like this, he can’t just abandon her. But then what if they’re right? What if she never does wake up? What if it was all too much for her and she’s never going to come back to him?

Dragging his fingers through his hair he slumps forwards, face in his hands, not knowing what he’s supposed to do, frustrated and confused beyond belief, wanting nothing more than for her to open her eyes.

“C’mon Jules,” he whispers softly, leaning forwards and gently stroking her hair, giving her hand a gentle squeeze, “You have to wake up for me, just, just open your eyes or, or squeeze my hand, anything. Please...Please open your eyes.”

****

Glancing once more around the hotel room he’d set up in since arriving in Vegas, making sure he hasn’t left anything, he resignedly swings his bag onto his back, sighing and massaging his temples, still, even now with his flight booked, trying to find some way that he can stay here with her, even a little longer, but he doesn’t know how.

Taking a deep breath, he makes his way to the hospital for the last time, treading the now familiar path up towards her room, wondering if maybe, just maybe, he might find her sitting up, propped on a stack of pillows, smiling and laughing with Russell.

But when he enters her room he finds her exactly as he had left her the night before, silence swells taut and endless in her room, broken only by the soft sound of the door slotting back into place in its frame as he steps inside.

Crossing over to the vase beside her bed, he changes out the old flowers he had brought her a few weeks ago and replaces them with the new ones he’s just brought her, his throat a little tight as he makes rather a fuss of arranging the new bunch beside her bed.

Russell nods to him and steps out to give him a moment alone with her. Taking a deep breath, he moves to her side and sits down on the edge of her bed, smiling sadly as he looks down at her face. The last few weeks have been draining, exhausting, stressful and largely confusing.

He spent almost a decade of his life seeing her almost every day, eventually falling in love with her, marrying her, when he’d insisted that he would never marry again after his first broke down, not for anyone. But for her...For her he broke a lot of rules, because he loved her, because there was a time in his life when he would have done anything for her, to make her happy, to keep her safe.

When he had been with her, when things had been good with her, when they had lived every day the same way they had been in those old wedding photos he had found, he was the happiest he had ever been. He had everything he could ever want, everything he could ever hope for. And somehow he had lost it all.

Somehow he had gotten to the stage of separating from her. It had all fallen apart so quickly over that case, it had driven them apart, things had only gotten worse between them and nothing had stepped in to save them. In the wake of that, neither of them had found the peace he had expected. He had been so sure that divorce was what they needed, what they had to do. They were tearing each other apart, they were making each other miserable, he had been sure that a separation, a clean break, a fresh start, would be better for both of them, let them be happy again. But that hadn’t worked.

And then that case had swung back round again and there she was, that achingly familiar smile on her face as she gazed up at him after he had pulled her over in Seattle. Working together again had felt so achingly _right_ and having her in his arms, in his bed again, had felt even more so. Lying there with her head on his chest, nestled in against him the sheets tangled around their bodies, he felt as that he’d been missing something since she left, something he hadn’t even realised he’d been missing until he had it back again.

Now they were here. In a dim hospital room in Las Vegas, where she was fighting for her life and all he knew is that he wanted, _needed_ her to be okay, if there was anything he could do to make it so he would, in a heartbeat he would.

Closing his eyes, he pauses a moment, and looks back down at her. She looks almost peaceful like this, her injuries steadily healing, and that would be some comfort to him if he knew that the one thing she could never stand in this world was peace and calm and quiet. She needed noise and activity, vibrance and risk and danger, she needed the world thrown into chaos and turmoil just to make it interesting. There was nothing she would hate more than this.

Softly running his fingers through her thick hair, the way he used to do, a thousand years ago, when they were happy, he leans down and presses a soft kiss to her forehead, still gently stroking her hair as he draws back just a fraction, just enough to say quietly, “I’ll come back and see you soon, okay? As soon as I can, I promise.”

Lingering, not sure what to do or say now, he gives her hand one final little squeeze then forces himself to stand up and walk out, knowing if he doesn’t go now he’s unlikely to go at all. He meets Russell in the little waiting room he first saw him in and they shake hands again, nodding to each other.

“You call me okay? If she gets better...Or....Or if she gets worse. I want to know, I need to know, one way or the other just, keep me in the loop?”

Russell nods, “Of course I will.” He promises quietly.

He heads back to the airport, watching Vegas shrink beneath him from the window of his plane, leaning back into the chair, wondering how much Hell the next few weeks are going to bring for him. He’s gone back to being helpless again. By her side he could handle any affairs he could, bring things by for her, check in with the nurses, make sure she was receiving the best possible treatment, he was on the ground, where he liked to be.

Even when he had been elevated to Captain, he had preferred to lead from the front, not sitting comfortably in some command centre, he wanted to be there, he wanted to be with his team, he couldn’t stand being stuck in some box somewhere miles away from the action, giving orders without being able to see and hear and smell and feel the repercussions of them.

But that’s where he was now. Forced to rely on Russell or the hospital to provide him with any updates on her condition and he already can’t stand it. If she were awake that would be different, but stuck in this agonizing limbo, not knowing one way or the other, that was the hardest part of this, of anything, the wait for the outcome. The outcome, whatever it was, good or bad he could deal with, he had something to sink his teeth in to, something to manage, something to bounce back from, but stuck suspended waiting for news to come in he despised.  But that was all he could do for now, and he would just have to find a way to get through the coming, weeks, months...However long it took for her to come back to them.

****

 


	6. Metronome

_ Part 6 – Metronome  _

The next few weeks find him painfully distracted. Any time he’s not busy, any time he’s not occupying himself, not doing something, his thoughts inevitably drift back to her, to the first time he saw her, the state she was in, the mess her condo was in, Russell’s haunting words as he informed her that she had slipped into a coma. 

They haunt every second he doesn’t spend working, so he works tirelessly, pulling shifts he shouldn’t be, making up for the time he took off and then some. They haunt every second of his dreams and more than once a week he finds himself sitting bolt upright in bed, panicking, mourning her when she’s only gone in his nightmares; so he sleeps as little as he can get away with, forcing himself to stay awake even when exhaustion is setting in and clouding his head.

He also finds himself spending far too much time looking up medical journals and survivor’s accounts, researching the coma she’s slipped in to, the injuries she sustained and what the possible effects of such an attack might be, terrifying himself with ever more unlikely scenarios and slim possibilities, driving himself half mad every other night thinking of some other complication that might have arisen.

Every morning when he wakes up the first thing he does is check his phone, both praying that Russell might have text him or left him a message and terrified of what it might contain, with every day that goes by getting surer and surer that any news he gets is going to be bad news.

That call never comes, but he can’t stop himself waiting for it.

****

Three weeks or so after leaving her to come back to Seattle, he manages to get the weekend off, enough time for him to justify flying down to Vegas to see for himself how she’s doing.

He’s given the same directions back up to the same room when he asks at the front desk, flowers clutched in one hand, a carefully selected cluster of CDs and audio books he knows she’ll like in the other.

When he pushes into the room, he can tell she looks much better than when he was last here, the room is less cluttered with various machines as well, all of which he takes as positive signs. Laying down the CDs he swaps over the flowers in the vase then leans down to lightly kiss the top of her head, stroking her hair as he perches on the edge of the bed beside her, taking his time to drink in her appearance, make note of every little injury he had documented when he was here before, marking how they’re healing now.

Satisfied that he’s progressing well, he starts gently stroking her hair again as he begins talking to her, telling her about some of the cases he’s worked recently, cases he knows she’d want to hear about, catching her up on some of the people she used to know, things that are happening between them, how the Seahawks are fairing this season, anything he can think of to fill the gaping silence that surrounds them.

All the while he watches her face, smooth, utterly expressionless, frozen, somehow so unlike her own, constantly in movement, as changeable and dynamic as a sea tossed into storm, always seeming to be either laughing or scowling or scrunched up in anger, but never still and tranquil the way it is now and he finds himself praying for something, anything, any tiny flicker of response or recognition but there’s nothing there.

Sighing, he strokes her hair back from her face again then slides from the bed and starts unnecessarily fussing with her covers, smoothing them out and pulling them up a little higher before he reaches up and starts gently fluffing up her pillows and adjusting the blanket covering her leg. A few moments later, he stops when he sees Russell outside and, with one last glance back towards her, he slips into the corridor beyond to join him.

They shake hands by way of greeting then he says quietly, “I brought her a couple of things, some CDs, her favourites, there were some she left with me after the divorce and well...And uh, a couple of audiobooks as well, just...” He pauses, not sure how to phrase this, then just blurts out, “Will you put them on for her? When I go back up to Seattle? I can’t stand the thought of her just lying there in silence, she’d hate that, please, just, put something on for her, okay?” 

Russell nods, seeming to understand somehow that this is important to him and, “Of course, of course I will.”

He inclines his head in thanks then shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, glancing over his shoulder briefly towards her room and then back to Russell, “How are you holding up?”

“One day at a time, right?” He says, a little too hollowly to be entirely convincing, then, with a touch more warmth, “Barb’s been a big help. The team too, they’ve picked up the slack and then some, told me in no uncertain terms if I hire someone new in her place I’ll have a mutiny on my hands.”

A faint smile dares to quirk his lips at that, then Russell turns to him and shoots back, “What about you? How are you doing with all of this?”

“Oh, fine, you know.” He mutters vaguely, looking back at her to avoid looking at Russell as his mind drifts insistently back to the many sleepless nights, the nightmares, being chased out of work because he’s been there far too long, “Working hard. Keeping busy. Taking my mind of things, I’m, I’m coping.” He lies flatly, not entirely sure if Russell believes him.

Catching the other man’s look and having no wish to discuss how little he’s actually coping with things, he clears his throat pointedly and changes the subject, “What about Jules? How is she doing? What are they saying now?”

Sighing deeply, Russell shakes his head in defeated hopelessness, “Physically she’s healing well, they couldn’t be happier with the progress she’s made there, her body’s getting better every day but...” He too looks over Mike’s shoulder at the slim figure lying motionless on the bed behind him, “She’s just...Still not responsive.”

“Has she improved at all?” He asks desperately, “I know she’s not exactly awake but-“ Russell just shakes his head sadly and he tails off, ducking his head then taking a deep breath and murmuring, “Thanks, I, I’m going to go and sit with her for a little while longer.”

Parting from Russell again, he slips quietly back into her room and back into his customary chair by her side, reaching forwards, feeling utterly hopeless as he gently takes her hand in his once more.

****

His next visit begins in much the same way, wandering through the quiet, mazelike hospital halls until he reaches her room, he pushes inside and takes a moment to peer at her chart and look over her, see if he can tell if she’s improving any. Frustration gnaws at him, despite his efforts to suppress it as he sees that she’s still healing well, the deep cut on her head moving from scab to scar by now, but there’s still no sign of her condition improving to the point that she’s awake.

Scooping up the dying flowers in the vase by her bed, he transfers in the fresh bunch that he’s brought, which he’s still arranging when the door opens behind him and he turns, expecting one of her nurses or doctors in to make a routine check up on her, or perhaps Russell, but the woman standing opposite him isn’t one he’s ever seen before and is in a CSI jacket as opposed to hospital scrubs.

Straightening, he shifts round to face her properly, studying her as she moves into the room, her eyes now on Jules. She’s tall, thick brown hair and brown eyes, obviously a colleague, he racks his brains, back to the trip that had brought her back up to Seattle with him, to see if he can place who this woman is.

He gives her a few moments to wander up beside the bed and give her hand a little squeeze before he breaks the silence with his best guess for sparking off some sort of introduction, that doesn’t seem to be forthcoming otherwise, “You’re Sara, right?”

That seems to catch her attention in a way that tells him she’s right and she takes a little more time to allow her gaze to linger now, studying him in turn before at last she nods and says, “Yeah...You’re Mike? The Seattle ex?”

That makes him smile faintly as he moves to settle into his usual seat, with Sara taking the one on the other side of the bed opposite him after a moment’s hesitation.

“Is that what she called me?” He asks, raising a faintly amused eyebrow and glancing back down at her as he lets his fingers play gently over the top of her hand.

He glances up in time to catch Sara’s smirk as she admits wryly, “Amongst other things.”

The laugh that bursts from him at that feels like the first he’s done in years, it feels good, and it’s a bittersweet thought that, indirectly, she was responsible for it.

“Yeah.” He murmurs fondly, stretching out a hand and tenderly stroking her hair, “I can imagine.”

Sara shifts slightly in her seat and that makes him glance up at her again as she says slowly, “Russell says you’ve been visiting a lot. Every few weekends or so.”

Her tone is hard to read and he’s similarly guarded and cautious with his answer, “Yeah, I, I just wanted to check in with her, make sure she’s doing alright and that she, she doesn’t feel like she’s been abandoned by everyone.”

He strokes back another lock of her thick blonde hair, twining it between his fingers and getting lost in his thoughts for a moment before he allows his gaze to rise again, at which point he smiles wryly and asks, “Do you think I’m crazy?” Her eyebrows contract in puzzlement at that and he expands, “Flying nine hundred miles every other weekend to visit my comatose ex-wife?” It’s hard to stop his voice cracking on the last few words and he looks back down towards her as it does.

“No.” Sara says quietly, and that makes him glance up at her again, “After she came back from working the Cooley case in Seattle she told me that she appreciated what you did for her up there and that you...” she casts around for a more tactful way of putting things, “ _Comforted_ her afterwards.”

He chokes out a small laugh at her word choice, “I doubt she was as delicate as that.”

“Well no, not exactly.” Sara admits and he smiles again. Her tone is more serious when she presses on however, drawing his attention back to her, “It was obvious that she still cared about you, though.” She tells him quietly, “And she knew you still cared about her?”

He pauses, struggling with himself a little, not quite knowing what to say to that, finally settling for a vaguely flippant, “Because I comforted her?”

“Because you stuck by her.” Sara says firmly, “Through everything that happened, she knew you had her back.”

He sobers up as well at that, looking back down at the woman on the bed between them before he agrees, “Yeah...I, I never could let go of her. Even when we separated and she moved a thousand miles away, I could never let go, not completely. I don’t think she ever could either.” Pausing a moment, he trails his hands up and down her arm with a wry little, “Now here we are.” He stalls again, finally voicing a concern that’s been plaguing him for the last few weeks, “And I still can’t walk away...I don’t even know if she would want me here with her or if-“

“She would.” Sara interrupts him, so definitely that he stares up at her once more.

“Well...We’ll see what she thinks when she wakes up.” He murmurs softly, looking back down into her face and wondering, yet again, when that’s likely to be.

****

 

The next time he comes to see her he’s almost completely healed, physically at least, she looks almost perfect. He can still find the scar on her forehead where he hit her when he gently strokes back her hair to softly kiss her forehead in greeting, but otherwise she looks almost perfectly healthy. Except for the fact that she still persists on lingering longer and longer in her coma.

Moving over to her bedside cabinet, he falls into what’s now become his habit, discarding the old bunch of flowers in there and replacing it with a new bunch, bright, bold, bursting with vibrant reds and deep pinks and sweet yellows, something that brightens the room a little bit, adds a splash of colour and bravely attempts to make it somewhat less depressing.

Every time he comes to see her, he finds himself at war with his own head. On the one hand so pleased she’s making so much visible process, on the other, increasingly worried that, in spite of this, she’s still showing no signs of improvement and appears no nearer to waking up than the day Russell told her she had slipped into a coma. The longer that goes by the more terrified he becomes that this condition is going to be permanent, that one day he’ll walk in and the doctors will be talking to Russell about making decisions for her future, considering letting her slip away gently or something else.

The thought alone makes him shiver violently, though the room around him is pleasantly warm, and he reaches out and clasps her hand in his, giving it a squeeze that’s a little harder than his usual customary greeting to let her know that he’s there. 

“Hey, Jules.” He murmurs softly, his hand trailing lightly up and down her arm, “It’s just me, I, I haven’t forgotten about you, I promise, I’m here.”

 Watching her expressionless face sadly for a few moments, he digs around in his back then pulls out a very worn, tattered copy of one of her favourite books, which he props open on the bed in front of him before rummaging a moment to find his glasses, sliding them on one handed and keeping the book open with the other, he squints down at it then quietly starts to read to her.

This had always been something she was fond of when they were together. Some days she liked nothing more than coming home and squirming into bed beside him, pushing a book into his lap with wide, pleading eyes then settling down, beaming, when he inevitably picked it up, flipped it open and started reading to her. She would lie for hours with him doing this for her, her head on his chest as though she wanted not only to hear the words but feel them vibrating through him as he read to her, and kept reading until she had managed to drift off to sleep with her arms around him.

Afterwards he would mark their page and leave the book on the cabinet beside him and turn his attention back to his wife, drawing the covers gently up around her, wrapping her in a soft embrace and pulling her in closer to him, kissing the top of her head and running his fingers through her hair.

What he would give to have those days back, to have her back...                                                 

Closing the book after a few hours, he sets it aside and takes up her hand again, holding it between both of his own and thinking, glancing up at her face every few moments, as words start slowly spilling from his lips, without him ever being able to remember giving them permission.

“I miss you, Jules.” He murmurs softly to her, his thumb absently stroking back and forth on the top of her hand, “And, and more than just sometimes.” He says with a faint smile, remembering the last time he had said those words to her in Seattle, a few moments before she had kissed him, what feels now like a hundred lifetimes ago.

Hesitating, he takes a few moments to try and gather his thoughts, to examine what he’s thinking, what he’s feeling for her, “I, I miss being with you, I miss us, I miss what we had when things were good. And they were good we, we were good together, we were.” He says slowly, adding thoughtfully, “I think I’ve been missing that for a while I just...”He shakes his head slightly, brow furrowed, “I hadn’t really noticed it.”

Swallowing hard, it’s a minute before he can finish that thought, “And then Russell called me, told me about the way this had all fallen apart, told me what had happened to you...When he said that...That your heart had stopped at the scene, that they expected you die on the table in surgery, that they were too late in finding you I...”

He trails off a moment, struggling with himself, the memory still sharp and painful, “I guess it just put a lot into perspective for me. The thought of losing you, of, of really _losing_ you was just....” He pauses again, toying with a fraying seam on the blanket drawn up over her legs, lying helpfully right by his fingers to give his hands something to do as he tries to find the right words to express himself to her.

“It terrified me.” He says finally, taking a deep breath and going on, “I know, I know that we separated, that we divorced and you moved away but...There was always that chance you know? You were never really _gone_ and I thought you were happy, that helped a lot, getting over you...Or I thought it had but now I’m not so sure I ever did really get over you.”

He stops again, his thoughts as muddled as his words and after a few hitched, halting breaths, he tries again, a little more slowly this time, “Seeing you again in Seattle, being with you again it was...I should never have let you go again that time, that was stupid, I...What we had then, what we did then it, it felt so good, it felt so right...I don’t know why...Why I let you walk away again, why I didn’t fight for you again I guess I just...”

Studying his hands he stumbles again then takes a deep breath and slides his hand back into hers, “But I think this..It, it me understand a lot about, about what I want.” Giving her hand a little squeeze he says in a strained voice, “I, I want you, Jules...I want you to be okay, I want you to wake up, I want...” He takes a deep, steadying breath and tries to calm himself out a little, “Well, we, we can talk about it when you wake up, if you want to but...I, I care about you...A lot, I just, as long as you know that.”

Hesitating, he leans forwards and softly presses his lips down to the top of her head, stroking her hair tenderly again, missing her, missing her voice, missing her teasing, her smile, her life. “I have to go.” He whispers sadly, “But  I’ll see you again soon, okay? I promise.” Leaning down, he presses another gentle kiss to the top of her head in farewell.

****

 

 


	7. Wake-Up Call

_ Part 7 –Wake-Up Call _

Sighing and changing the channel again for the fourth or fifth time in the last twenty minutes he sinks back into the chair, watching as some reality cooking show appears on his screen, making his stomach jolt slightly thinking that, whether she’d ever admit it in public or not, it’d probably be something that she would like. He makes a mental note to find out the name so he can tell her when she wakes up.

His rambling musings are interrupted by his phone vibrating loudly on the coffee table in front of him. Leaning forward and exhaling slowly, hoping it’s not work, the last cases he’d worked having utterly drained him, he needs a break, not more problems shoved onto his plate.

When he mutes the TV and snatches up the phone to check the caller ID however, his stomach contracts tightly as he sees that it’s Russell. He hasn’t called him much lately, there’s never been anything to say, her condition has been stagnating for so long that the calls had dried up, boiling down to a well worn rhetoric in which he just began by saying ‘no change?’ and receiving a solemn sigh of assent for answer. After a while they had seemed to come to the mutual conclusion that there was no benefit to these entirely depressing phone calls and Russell only ever got in touch if something drastic was going on, so something must have happened to have prompted this.

Heart seeming to have lodged itself somewhere in his throat making it difficult to breathe he clenches the hand not holding his phone into a tight fist, his nails biting into his palm, trying not to panic, trying not to think that this is Russell calling to tell him that she’s passed away, that she’s never going to wake up, that something went wrong, that something went really wrong and he wasn’t there, he wasn’t with her, he was here he was-

Taking a deep, steadying breath, he forces himself to calm down a little, closing his eyes and giving himself a few seconds to compose himself and enable him to answer the call, almost naturally.

“Hey.” He says, a little more shakily than he’d been aiming for and leaving it there, not trusting himself to say anything more elaborate with his throat so tight with terror, waiting with baited breath for the other man to respond, ready to try and predict what bombshell he’s about to drop from his tone.

“Hey yourself, Mike.” Is grumbled down the line at him in response to that.

He freezes where he sits, sure that it’s her voice, that it’s _her_. And for a moment nothing makes sense and he wonders if he’s dreaming or hallucinating, or something in him has finally cracked and driven him mad. The world grinds to a halt, every moment of his life, every moment that preceded this one seems to contract and suspend into a solid, interminable second in which he just stares blankly beyond the windows opposite him, out onto the harbour beyond without really seeing anything at all, his mouth slightly open, hardly daring to breathe, unable to move, just sitting waiting, waiting for something to break, for the illusion to shatter and come crashing down around him and bring him back to reality.

“Russell tells me I have you to thank for bringing me my iPod and all my books and CDs.” She continues conversationally, as though they talk like this every day, as though nothing at all is amiss and that throws him even more than her initial, charming greeting because he doesn’t understand how any of this is happening and he’s too confused and way out of his depth to even try and begin to process what’s going on or how it’s going on, or if any of this is even real and really happening to him.

“Mike?” Her voice again, saying his name, just that and nothing else, so simple, so easy and yet it was something he thought that he would never hear again, something that he was terrified that he would never hear again, something that he was beginning to convince himself that he would never hear again because the blind, false hope he’s been forcing himself through day in and day out had been utterly exhausting him, but it’s happening now, her breath is bending around his name the way he used to love and she’s still going, sounding more than little wrong-footed and bemused on the other end of the line, “Mike are you still there? Can you hear me?”

All he can manage by way of response to this is a very hoarse, strangled, disbelieving little, “Jules?” His voice cracking even on that single word. 

A loud, disapproving tut greets this and that more than anything jolts him into the reality of what’s happening. It’s just so achingly familiar, so achingly expected after he’d dared to use that name, so achingly, unequivocally _her._

“I’m pretty sure I’ve told you not to call me that.” She growls menacingly at him, and he can practically see her crossing her arms grumpily across her chest as she continues to go on scolding him, “ _I’m_ the one with an excuse for having a poor memory right now,  having been in a coma for all these months, not you, Mike.” She reminds him flatly.

“Jules.” He chokes out, his voice breaking, his throat tight with emotion, and all he can manage to stammer out over and over again is her name, the only word he seems to know right now, the only thing he seems able to bring clearly into his mind, the only thing that seems to make a damn bit of sense to him, “Jules...Jules...”

A slow smile gently ghosts across her lips in spite of herself at the sound of his voice, at the obvious emotion that’s pulsing through it when he says her name. Nestling in against the plump pillows at her back she presses the phone a little harder into her ear as her own voice softens and her tone becomes gentler, warmer and more sincere in the face of his reaction, “Hey, Mike.” She murmurs quietly.

“You, you’re awake?” He breathes, unable to believe that this is happening, hardly able to comprehend those words even as he says them, one hand is gripping onto a nearby cushion for the simple need to cling onto _something_ right now, while the other presses the phone so hard into his cheek it’s going to leave a mark on the skin but he couldn’t care less at the moment, all he cares about at this moment is her, her voice, her words murmured into his ear again, trying to read into how she’s doing from her tone, trying to catch anything that might betray her as being in pain or discomfort or not as alright as she seems to be trying to project to him.

“No.” She huffs in irritable amusement, still unable to stop smiling fondly at him for all of that as she informs him flatly, “I’ve crossed over, I’m speaking to you from beyond the grave.”

An odd choking sound, caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob, greets those words and he valiantly attempts to chide her through a thick knot of emotion that muffles his words, “Don’t, don’t even joke about that, Jules, I, oh, God-“

He breaks off again, overcome and has to take a few moments of deep breathing into his cushion before he finally manages to pull himself together enough to gasp out, “You’re awake, you’re, you’re, Jules, you’re okay? You’re okay?” His voice trembles on the last few words, needing to hear her say it, needing her to tell him that, needing to know for sure.

Biting her lip she nods, forgetting that he’s not here with her and that he can’t see her, feeling her own chest getting a little tight as she listens to him. She can see him, see the state he’ll have worked himself up in to just now, not sure whether to laugh or cry, barely holding it together at all, and only for her sake at that. She knows what he’s been through these past few months, what he’ll have put himself through since he found out the news, the sleepless nights, the nightmares, agonizing over every tiny detail, cursing himself for not being able to do anything, not being able to help her, feeling useless and abandoned, forced to go back to Seattle, to try and work, to try and focus on something else and she knows that that will have been as bad for him as anything else, overworking himself out to the point of exhaustion try not to think about this. She knows him too well to be surprised by this reaction, or to have expected anything less from him.

She knows how much it means to him to hear her voice again, she’d have known that even if he wasn’t stumbling over simple sentences, and struggling to form words and get his head around any of this. She knows him. She knows him, she cares about him and right now, she wants nothing more than to comfort him, to reassure him, to let him see her, let him see that she is alright, hold his hand and smile up at him that way he likes. She wants him with her, she wants him by her side, she wants that more than anything right now.

 Because though she’s trying so hard not to let on to him, or anyone, even herself, she is struggling with this more than she thought she would. It’s a lot to try and deal with and a part of her wants him here with her because she knows that he’ll make it easier, that he’ll have a way of putting it all that just calms her down and makes her feel secure and comfortable and confident again and she wants that too.

“Mhm.” She mumbles to him at last, breath hitching she tries a cocky little, “You don’t have to cry about it.” The effect of that attempt at an off-hand remark ruined somewhat because her own voice is thick and choked with tears as she says it.

“I am not.” He gasps indignantly, every overly huffy syllable of that sentence giving him away and letting her know there are currently floods coursing down his cheeks, in happiness, in relief, the release he’s been desperately waiting on and building up to for the weeks and months he’s stressed and torn himself apart over this all bursting out of him at once and it’s far too much for him, for anyone, to be able to handle. 

It’s her turn then to half laugh, half sob at him and she finds herself cradling the phone in close to her cheek and whispering softly into it, “I’m okay, Mike.” That makes him cry audibly harder which sets her off as well, swallowing hard past the lump in her throat to be able to tell him with a wobbly little smile he can’t see but she knows he’ll be picturing all the same, “I’m going to be okay.”

He nods hopelessly, completely forgetting that she can’t see him, but his throat is too tight to trust himself with words at the minute. All these weeks, all these months of waiting, of hoping, his nerves frayed, becoming ever more distracted at work, increasingly convinced that the next time the phone rang it was going to be Russell or the hospital telling him that they’d lost her that she was gone, and he wouldn’t even have been with her, he would have been hundreds of miles away and the next time he had to go to Vegas would be for a funeral.

He had found himself lying sleeplessly at nights, staring up at the ceiling wondering what he would say, wondering how he could possibly even begin to say goodbye to her. But it’s a possibility that’s been seeping into his head like poison for the last few weeks now, because he physically couldn’t keep telling himself that everything was going to be alright and he had to start bracing himself for the worst or he knew he’d never deal with it if and when it came about.

But now, now she’s here, here with him, just on the other end of the line, chatting away breezily to him as though they do this every weekend, as though they’ve been doing it for weeks and months and this is as natural as breathing, as though nothing is amiss at all. And he supposes it isn’t anymore.

“You’re going to be okay.” He echoes faintly, sounding slightly dazed and disbelieving even now, clutching onto his phone so tightly as though afraid if he lets it go he’ll lose her, “You, you’re okay. You’re really okay.”

“Yeah.” She murmurs gently to him, patiently waiting for him to manage to mumble himself into silence, wanting to reassure him and calm him, knowing how much of a mess he’ll have gotten himself in to these last few months and how relieved and how happy he is now, even if he’s struggling to show it, or even feel it right now through the numb shock that must be pounding through his system, “Are _you_ going to be okay?” She can’t stop herself from grinning as he gasps hopelessly on the other end of the line, trying to get his breathing under control again.

“Me?” He repeats vaguely, as though the thought has never crossed his mind before, in all his years on this planet, “I’m, I’m fine, I’m great, I’m-“ He breaks off, swallowing then whispers hoarsely, “God, Jules, it’s so good to hear your voice again.” He breathes to her, a weak smile brushing across his lips, “I thought, I thought I would never, I thought you would, I thought you were-“ He gives up, closing his eyes and shaking his head, unable to say it, even now, for all his attempts at bracing for the worst, it’s still not something he would ever have been able to come to terms with. 

“I know.” She breathes quietly, “I know, but it’s okay now.” She tells him firmly, wishing he was here with her, desperate to reach out to him, take his hand in hers and squeeze it, hold him in her arms and let him hold her back, let him see that she is okay, feel his hands gently running over every inch of her as he tries to prove that to himself. “It’s good to hear your voice again, too, Mike.” She tells him with another sincere little smile, shifting a little on her pillows and wincing at the effort, biting her lip and hoping he hasn’t heard, knowing that he’ll panic.

A short beat of silence greets this and when he speaks again he sounds much more serious and much more businesslike, and she knows immediately that he had noticed her little grimace of pain, as she should have known he would.

 “Are you being taken care of properly?” He demands sharply, “What are they saying about your condition now? You were out a long time, they’re going to need to deal with that properly. Are you in pain still? Are they managing it well? What are the next steps they’re going to take? And what about-“

It’s an effort to stop herself from giggling at him as he swings at once from emotional wreck to mother hen without pausing anywhere in between to take stock, “Yes sir, no sir, please breathe sir.” She shoots back at him, smirking fondly and shaking her head slightly at him.

“Sorry.” He mumbles, flushing darkly, realising he might have gone a little overboard with her there, “I’m sorry, I just-“

“I understand, Mike.” She says, her voice quiet and sincere knowing that his heart’s in the right place and all he wants is what’s best for her, and for her to make a complete recovery from all of this.

Pausing a moment, she chews on her next words before she says slowly, “Russell said that you’ve been really worried about me, he says you took it really hard when he told you, you came all the way out to see me and everything...” She lets that hang in the air for a moment, wondering how he’s going to respond to it.

He flushes a little more darkly at that and, “Yeah, yeah, I, uh, I was...I was really worried about you, Jules, you gave me a bit of a fright there.” He mumbles feebly, then, his tone becoming a little gruffer, he asks haltingly, “I was, I was just going to ask you if you wanted me to, or, rather, if, if it would be okay if I came to see you now, now that you’re awake?”

She can feel him waiting with baited breath on the other end for her answer and she almost rolls her eyes at him for thinking that he even has to ask. But her voice is gentle and soft when she replies, almost coyly, “Yeah, I, I’d like that.”

“I can be on the next flight out.” He says eagerly and at once, then catches himself and amends, “Or we could leave it a couple of days, give you some time to rest, you must be exhausted, or-“

“Mike.” She interrupts him, cutting him off in full flow and he stops as she’d wanted. She waits a beat then smiles and says definitely, “Get the next flight out.”

“Yes ma’am.” He replies gruffly and that makes her smile at him yet again, biting her lip as he clears his throat and goes on, “So, I, I’ll get going now and then I’ll, I’ll see you as soon as I can okay?”

“Mhm.” She murmurs happily.

“Okay then...”He says, taking a deep, steadying breath, clearly struggling to process all of this and start planning and fully grasping what’s about to happen next.

Just as he’s about to hang up however, she catches him and stalls him a moment longer, feeling, strangely, that she doesn’t want him to hang up, wanting him to stay and keep talking to her as long as possible, “Oh, Mike-“

“Mm?”

“Thanks for the flowers.” She says quietly, glancing at the bright bunch in the vase beside her.

“You’re welcome.” He replies quietly, then, “Did Russell tell you?”

“No.” She says simply, shaking her head, reaching out and gently pinching one of the blossoms between her fingers, “No-one else would have sent me carnations.”

****

 


	8. Shadowed Blossom

_ Part 8 –Shadowed Blossom  _

The flowers by her bedside had been one of the first things she had seen when she had finally woken up. The frilly, bold blossoms immediately visible as soon as she had turned her head and the first person she had thought of when she saw them had been Mike.

Disorientated and confused, not entirely sure where she was or what was happening or what had happened, she knew one thing, she knew that he had been to see her, she knew that he had been here, wherever here was, she knew he had come down for her and brought her these flowers. She knew that as certainly as anything, knowing nothing else in that moment, she knew that.

 It had been something that had evolved between them once they had finally started dating each other, years ago, which had taken them long enough to get to. A little bunch of carnations had been the first bunch of flowers he had ever brought for her on the first date they had gone on and the memory of that came back more sharply amidst the tangled cloud of other, more recent, more muddled memories that she couldn’t make sense of, but she could make sense of that.

_Checking the clock on the mantelpiece again as she scampers past, her feet still bare, unable to find the matching red high heel she needs anywhere, trying to pin in earrings as she hurries across the room searching for them, wondering desperately why she had left it so late to get ready and why oh why had she lingered so long in the shower insisting to herself that she had ages left._

_He was going to be here in five minutes, if he was on time, which he always was, and she didn’t think she was ready at all. And to cap it all, she was more nervous about this date than she had been about anything for as long as she could remember. And it was stupid, it was so stupid. They had been hooking up for the past three or four months, she had known him for years by now, there was nothing here that should make her nervous at all. All they were going to do was go out and get a little dinner, and then maybe go for a stroll along the waterfront, that was it, a few hours at most, but she can’t seem to sit still and she’s flapping around the house as though she’s preparing for her first big job interview that she desperately wants to get._

_Maybe that’s the thing, she ponders, pausing as she squats down to peer under the couch for her escaped shoe, how badly she wants this to go well, maybe that’s why she’s so nervous. He’s a nice guy, sweet, gentle, great in bed, and he makes her smile, makes her happy. She trusts him, she feels safe with him, any time she’s not spending with him she wishes she was and she’s found herself wishing too that she could share things with him when he’s not here with her._

_But it could all come crashing down tonight on this date, they might decide that they’ve made a horrible mistake, that everything that happened up to this point was just happenstance, that the idea of them is much more appealing than the actual manifestation of them as a real romantic couple. Then there’s the fact that she hasn’t entertained that notion, of being with someone else like this, for so long .She had insisted, firmly, that she didn’t want that anymore, that she just needed a little human contact and release every now and then but she didn’t need a lover, she didn’t need a partner, she didn’t **want** a partner. _

_But now she wants him, she wants him so badly and more than that; she doesn’t want to lose him, she doesn’t want to lose what they’ve got because what they’ve got is amazing. She finally has someone she can confide in, someone she can rely on, someone she cares about and who cares about her so genuinely, someone that she could really fall in love with, and fall hard in love with at that, given half a chance. But what if she isn’t given that chance? What if she loses it all tonight because this date goes so badly?_

_Finally she manages to locate her other shoe, and, with the pair in hand at last, slips them both onto her feet and is just fumbling with her other earring, still completely lost in slightly panicked thoughts when she hears a soft tap at the door that announces his arrival._

_Her stomach clenches tightly in sudden fear and, abandoning the necklace she still hasn’t put on, dumping it unceremoniously on the counter as she passes in a blur, she hurries as fast as her heels will allow to the door, pausing a moment to take a deep breath and smooth down the front of her dress before she reaches forwards, grasps the handle, and pulls it open, smiling almost shyly, peering around the edge for her first glimpse of him._

_He’s found a suit for the occasion and he looks more handsome than she can ever remember staring down at her and drinking in every inch of her in the clinging red dress she has on that she knows perfectly accents her figure, flushing a little as he nods at her. He looks, if possible, even more nervous than she is herself. That, strangely, makes her feel a bit better about it all. They’re both completely over thinking this, and worrying unnecessarily about it all but at least they’re completely over thinking it and worrying unnecessarily about it all together. Somehow she takes that for a good sign._

_“You, you look...just...just, wow.” He manages to tell her after a moment’s silence in which all he seems to do is stare at her in a mixture of awe and wonder as though he can’t quite believe that this is happening for him, taking more than a moment to find his tongue and remember that he probably should have said hello almost a minute ago._

_“Thanks.” She says, smiling shyly and finding herself flushing crimson to match him for some reason, as though she’s never been complimented on a date before, “You, you look good too.” She tells him, smiling up at him, face still glowing in a way she wishes it wouldn’t._

_He nods, apparently still taken aback by her, drinking in every aspect of her, then he seems to come to his senses yet again, giving himself a little shake and hastily trying to get things back on track, “Oh, oh, these are for you.” He tells her, unnecessarily, holding out the bunch of flowers he has in his hand and making her stop and examine them properly for the first time._

_They’re large and vibrant, not roses, she can tell at a glance, larger and fuller and plumper, seeming to burst out cheerfully from the ends of their stems in eagerness to greet her and that makes her smile a little as she studies them._

_“You shouldn’t have.” She tells him, blinking up to look at him again and realising that he’s blushing too and well, at least they’re both being out of their depth and ridiculous together this evening._

_“It’s nothing.” He tells her quickly, waving away her words, “I, well, you’re supposed to bring a girl flowers on a date, so I’ve heard.” He says, with a nervous little stab at laughter, babbling now as he stumbles on, rubbing the back of his neck and turning as red as some of the flowers in his bouquet, “And, I don’t know, roses felt a little, well a little too much for a first date and they, well didn’t seem very, very **you** , I liked these better, I, well, I thought of you when I saw them so I just....” He trails off, looking uncomfortable and so unlike his usual calm, unflappable self, “If you don’t like them-“ _

_“No!” She exclaims at once, reaching forwards and defiantly scooping them up out of his hands, examining them more closely, “They’re beautiful, I love them.” She says, smiling up at him, “I’m glad they made you think of me.” Standing up on her toes she stretches over, placing a hand on his chest to steady herself and lightly kisses his cheek then crosses to the sink and fills the basin with a little water to sit them in while they’re out until she can find a proper vase for them._

_Grabbing her necklace from the counter she walks back to him, trying to pin it in place as she does so without much success. “Here.” He offers at once, stepping forwards and taking it from her. Smiling, she turns on the spot and scoops her hair back out of the way, letting him fasten it gently behind her neck, shivering slightly when his hands linger, hot and soft against her skin._

_Turning around again she finds him looking down at her, his eyes deep and intense and she can’t stop herself from leaning up, hooking her fingers around the front of his jacket and pulling him down to her, kissing him so soft and slow. Breaking apart, both of them a little breathless and flushed, she straightens his slightly ruffled shirt then slides her arm gently through his, unable to stop smiling now he’s here with her, “We should get going, if we’re going to make that dinner reservation...”_

After that date, he had never brought her any other flowers but carnations, it had been something of a signature between them and when she had pressed him about it later, asking why they’d reminded him of her he had gotten a little hot around the collar and flushed again before finally mumbling that they just, they were bright and bold and in your face like her, but, but in a good way, like her, and they were beautiful too and he had mumbled away to himself until she had giggled, altogether too pleased with his words, and wriggled into his lap to softly kiss him and thank him again.

Russell had interrupted her wanders down memory lane by ambling back into the room, a paper tucked under his arm and a little cup of tea clutched in his hand, which he promptly dropped, sending it spattering all over the floor and his shoes when he had happened to glance up and saw that her eyes were open and she was looking right back at him.

He had darted out of the room to shout for help then hurried back inside, skirting the pool of tea still seeping from his fallen cup, ignoring that problem entirely, he had hurried to her side, sinking into the chair by her bedside that he had been occupying for a while judging by the slightly squashed cushion in it.

Reaching over he had gently slid his hand over hers and given it the softest squeeze, unable to tear his eyes away from her face, the smile etched in every line of his face, crinkling his slightly damp eyes as he stretched out with trembling fingers and brushed back her hair.

“How are you feeling, Jules?” He asks tremulously.

“Okay.” She croaks hoarsely, her throat feeling so painfully dry, “Just a little tired.”

Standing up quickly and plumping up her pillows for her, he reaches over to the jug of water beside her bed and pours her out a small cup, turning back to her and carefully placing one hand behind her head to raise it up slightly, bringing the water to her lips and helping her take a few small sips of it.

Setting the cup back down he tuts shakily at her, “I don’t know how you can be tired, you’ve slept long enough.” He informs her sternly, softly stroking her hair back from her forehead, peering critically down at her, looking so concerned for her that she wants to tell him it’s okay.

Instead, she squints up at him in confusion and he lets out a very unsteady little laugh, his fingers absently running through her hair, as he tells her quietly, “Jules, you, you’ve been in a coma for nearly five months.”

A little later, when she had been feeling stronger and Russell had finally managed to calm himself down after realising she was awake, explain everything properly to her ,and hover anxiously over her as the nurses and doctors ran all sorts of tests on her and asked her half a hundred questions to make sure everything was working as it should be, she had tentatively asked him about the flowers, and about Mike too, wanting to know how he was coping with this and suspecting that the answer was unlikely to be a positive one, she knew him far too well for that. If he had come here to see her, he must have been so scared for her.

Russell had been rather dogged in his answer, clearing wanting to protect her and stop her getting worked up so soon after she had come round, but reading between the lines of what he had said, she knew how worried Mike must have been, and for how long.

 She had made her decision on the spot after hearing that and announced to Russell that she wanted to be the one to call him and let him know how she was, her stomach fluttering with the same nervous sort of excitement that had filled her the night of their first date at the thought of hearing his voice again after all this time.

****

 


	9. Reunion

_ Part 9 – Reunion  _

Flagging down a cab, he ducks quickly into it and leans forward to ask to be taken to the hospital then sinks back into the seat as they set off, opening his bags and checking through all of the things that he’s brought for her to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything.

A part of him still can’t believe that this is happening, that this time, after so long, after so many visits to this hospital to see her unconscious and unresponsive to him and everything else around her, this time she’ll be awake and sitting up waiting for him. A part of him still half thinks it was all a dream and when he gets there he’ll find her lying still and immobile as ever on her bed, her condition unchanged. But he remembers her phone call, the sound of her voice and he closes his eyes and allows himself a soft, swift smile.

He has to keep reminding himself that this is all real, that she is awake, that she is okay now, that everything is going to be okay. Finally, he can stop sitting up every night driving himself crazy waiting for a phone call telling him that they’ve lost her, that she slipped away in the night, that they did everything they could do, they tried everything, but it was just too much for her to ever be able to recover from. That’s never going to be a phone call that he has to take now, he can stop dwelling on that horrific possibility in every second that his brain stops frantically working. Now, after so long, he might have half a chance of sleeping through the night again.

Still, he doesn’t dare to let himself get too far ahead of the situation before he knows everything. She sounded so bright and energetic and full of life over the phone, just like her old self, like the woman he had married, the woman he had loved, the woman that he had missed so badly over these last few months.

But he knows her too well to be completely taken in by all of that. She can hide a lot when she wants to, in person she could conceal from almost everyone but him how badly she was hurting, and even then only because he spent so much time with her and knew her so well. Over the phone, if she didn’t want him to worry about her it would have been almost easy to fake it and pretend that everything was all okay.

He needs to see her. He needs to be with her. He needs to be able to look her over and really hear her when she speaks to gauge how she’s really doing with all of this. He needs to see that smile he knows so well, he needs to hear her voice, he needs to hold her in his arms and run his hands over every inch of her body before he’ll even start coming close to being ready to believe that she’s going to make a full recovery, that she really is alright, that all of this might really be on the way to finally, _finally_ being over at last. 

The taxi pulls up outside the hospital and he scrambles out without waiting for any of his change then hurries up to the doors, ducking hastily into the gift shop for a few minutes before he approaches reception and double checks to see where she is, wondering if she might have been transferred room and ward now that she’s awake and doing better.

He was right in that and is given a different set of directions to her new room. Pausing only a heartbeat to thank the receptionist, he hurries off the way she had pointed him, ignoring the lifts and the small, jostling crowd standing outside one in favour of the stairs, which he takes two at a time, heart hammering hard and fast against his ribs, his stomach tightening, his chest too until it’s hard to breathe for the nervous excitement that’s twisting his guts into knots.

In what feels like no time at all, he’s standing outside a small room, the blinds tilted so he can’t see inside, the door closed as well, gripping his flowers in one hand and his bag in the other, visibly trembling and stalling for a moment, then, taking a deep breath and knocking gently on the wooden frame of the door and waiting a moment, he cautiously pushes his way inside.

The room inside is bigger than her last and airy and refreshing, with sunlight streaming in through the large window to the side of the bed, the bright, bold rays of Vegas sunshine falling on her where she’s sitting propped up on a thick stack of pillows, reading a book that’s balanced on her knees which he recognises as one of the ones he left for her all those months ago, when he was so sure it would only be a matter of days until she woke up.

Glancing up at the sound of the door opening in front of her, seeking to see who’s come calling, the book slides from her grasp and her face splits at once into a broad smile when she sees that it’s him standing before her, a little slumped to one side in shock in the doorway of her room, gazing at her as though transfixed, utterly unable to believe what he’s seeing.

Crossing the distance between them in three short strides, he unceremoniously abandons the bunch of flowers and the bag he’s carrying at the foot of her bed without pausing to stop and set them down more gently before he sinks down onto the edge beside her. He stares at her for a long moment, his chest feeling almost unbearably tight as he tries to breathe steadily, hesitating. Then he gives up, deciding that the time for hesitation is long past. He stretches over and pulls her into his arms.

She starts slightly in surprise when he abruptly embraces her without so much as a single word of greeting but her body relaxes instinctively into his almost at once on some deep rooted instinct and she closes her eyes, resting her chin on his shoulder and lifting her arms to wrap around his chest in turn.

He’s shaking slightly as he holds her so tightly in his arms, as though he means to keep her nestled against him forever, keep her safe forever and never let anything happen to her again, never have to risk losing her again. As he hugs her against him she hears his breath hitch and catch slightly as he buries his face into her shoulder, taking several deep, slow breaths and trying to steady himself a little.

 She murmurs quietly to him, her words all but incoherent, lost in the muffling press of their embrace and gently rubs his back a little as she does so, squeezing him gently and trying to help him calm down somewhat, whispering that she’s okay, it’s all okay now, it’s over and letting him hold her as long as he needs to, closing her eyes and indulging in this herself.

Closing her eyes she lets her body melt in against his, savouring this little moment with him. It’s a strange feeling, they’ve barely seen each other at all, except a few brief moments in Seattle months and months ago when she had ducked in to visit him while working the Gig Harbour case up there with Shaw, yet having him here and holding her like this feels like the most natural thing in the world, as though he was last here yesterday, as though they still see each other every day, as though they’re still together.

That’s a strange thought as well and it startles her as it occurs to her but it doesn’t make her try and have him release her, wanting to draw away from this and that prospect. Instead she just wraps her arms a little more tightly around him and draws him in closer, feeling so calm and safe here with him, in his arms again, which has been something of a luxury after the last few days of being assaulted at various, unbidden, utterly unrelated times with disturbing, unsettling flashes of things that she has no memory of and that don’t make any sense to her but leave her with a deep feeling of fear and unease all the same.

She forgets about all of that when he holds her close to him like this though, all that she’s aware of right now are his arms around her, his body pressed against hers, the comforting warmth that radiates from him, the soft, familiar scent of him that fills her lungs with every breath she takes and it seems to her, that somehow, that scent still reminds her of home.

Throat too tight for speech still, he just holds her close to him, his fingers sliding up inexorably to tangle in her hair, cradling her against him, trying to be as gentle as he can, remembering that she’s still delicate and has only just woken up from a coma, but unable to stop himself from pulling her in as close against his body as he can, savouring her warmth, the feeling of her holding him back just as tightly and the sound of her  whispering softly in his ear as she rubs his back, trying to soothe him.

It takes a long time before he’s willing to let her go and even then he does so reluctantly, drawing away from her as slowly as he can justify. Even then he never fully releases her, instead he holds her at arm’s length and carefully starts looking her up and down, searching for any little bump or bruise or sign that she’s not as alright as she sounded on the phone to him.

“Look at you.” He breathes softly in awe, his hands squeezing her shoulders gently.

“Awake and sitting up on my own and everything.” She jokes lightly, grinning and gesturing expansively at herself, sitting up on the bed, her eyes dancing playfully at him.

He smiles then, more so than he’s done in weeks, in months, and she returns it, just as wide and happy as his. Reaching out on instinct, he softly cups her cheek in his hand, lightly stroking it with his thumb as he looks into her eyes, “I’ve missed that smile.” He murmurs, his voice quiet and sincere and she nuzzles affectionately in against his touch as he goes on, more unsteadily, “For a minute there, you, I thought...Thought that I’d never see it again...You gave me a real fright with all of this, Jules.”

“I know.” She says quietly, reaching up and covering the hand that’s still lightly cradling her cheek with her own, much smaller one, “But I’m okay now...” She whispers softly, her tone lightening somewhat as she adds, “You can see all the smiles you want.” And she grins again for him, just to prove that point and try and make him smile too.

He nods, swallowing hard and for a moment his eyes flicker from hers and down instead to her lips and when he glances up quickly again he catches her doing the same thing to him. Pausing, feeling suddenly breathless, as though the room has been drained of all of its air, making it hot and thick and charged instead and for one mad second he finds himself leaning in closer to her, his head tilting slightly, wanting nothing more than to kiss her, to press his lips against hers, to remind himself of the way her tongue tastes, to feel her kiss him back, to wind his fingers through her hair and hold her so close to him as he lets her know just how much he’s missed her.

He swears that she’s leaning in to him as well, shifting forwards a little on her pillows, her eyes never leaving his and one hand is resting gently on his knee while the other grips the sheets beneath her as though to help steady her. She’s so close to him, almost too close, he can see the darker flecks that are peppered through her deep green eyes, drawing him in, urging him on, threatening to drown him.

His hand is still cupping her cheek and he raises it slightly, to brush a lock of her hair back behind her ear out of their way, her lips are parting slightly as she draws in even nearer to him and just as his eyes are starting to flutter closed, the door bangs slightly behind them as a nurses bustles in with one of her afternoon doses of medicine and to conduct a quick check up and he finds himself hastily springing back from her and from the bed to allow her doctors access to her.

As they work on her their gazes catch and he finds himself flushing slightly, wondering what the Hell he was thinking as he turns back to the bags he had brought and starts busying himself with the flowers, adding another vase by her bed and making quite a performance of arranging them with his back firmly to her until he hears the doctors announce that she’s doing excellently and slip out again, leaving them alone together once more.

Her smile is guarded and shy when he finally turns back round and, eager to distance them from what had just happened he sits himself down on the chair beside her bed instead of perching up beside her again. But he can’t stop himself reaching out a moment later, his hand falling somewhere near her shoulder and runs gently down the length of her arm, stopping at her hand and twining their fingers together, squeezing and glancing up at her as he clears his throat and asks promptly, “How, how are you feeling then? Overall, you know?”

She shrugs noncommittally, making no move to pull her hand away, seemingly happy to let him keep holding it as she tells him, “I’m a little tired, a little stiff and achey...”

Watching him carefully, she thinks she understands what he’s trying to do and isn’t sure if she’s glad of it or not. In that instant before they had been interrupted she had been about to kiss him and she had been sure, she had been so sure that he had been about to kiss her back.

Maybe it would have been a bad idea, maybe it was just as well that they were interrupted before their lips could meet. Things are complicated and challenging enough what with her condition in hospital without adding in her entirely more complex feelings for the man sitting opposite her holding her hand and gazing up at her with ill-disguised emotion.

She cares about him, she knows she does, she’s never really been able to completely switch that off. Ever since she saw him again during the Cooley case that took her back up into Seattle and, though it was never part of her original plan, back into his bed.

 The night that they had spent together had been hot and intense and the release that had come from being with him had been exactly what she had needed. But things had gone even further than that. He had been warm and tender with her afterwards, had held her close to him when she had found herself overwhelmed and overcome by everything that had happened surrounding this case to lead her to this point with him. He had been patient and caring and had listened and offered sound advice and tried to look out for her as best he could and she knew that he had her best interests at heart.

He had softly stroked her hair and the way that he had kissed her before they had drifted off to sleep in one another’s arms again had betrayed a deeper sense of things being unresolved between them. It wasn’t just about the sex that night, there had been more to it than that, they both knew it. And that still twisted and simmered between them, like an unseen current in an ocean, not always visible on the surface but always there and always ready to snare the unwary.

His voice jolts her back to herself a moment later as he says, concern etched in every syllable, “But you’re definitely on the mend now?” He checks, concern in every syllable, “There’s nothing they’re still worried about?” 

She shakes her head, “No.” She tells him quietly, giving his hand a reassuring little squeeze as she expands, “No, I’m definitely on the mend now, they say I’m doing really well.” She catches his small smile of relief at that and keeps going, “ I start physio next week, to build up some of the muscle I lost when I was in the coma. Then I think they’ll let me go home when they’ve decided I’m strong enough.”

Smiling and nodding, he lets his thumb absently stroke across the top of her hand, almost as though he’s not quite aware of what he’s doing, his eyes fixed completely on hers once more. “You look good.” He tells her with another small grin, giving her hand a gentle squeeze, sensing that she’d much rather be leaving the hospital sooner as opposed to later, which he can’t fault her for, “You’ll be out of here in no time, wait and see.”

“Thanks, Mike.” She murmurs quietly, then, after peering into his eyes a moment, she says carefully, “What about you?  You look tired.”

He snorts faintly at that, “Thanks, Jules.” He tells her, shaking his head and hiding a grin with difficulty, “It’s good to see your tact and delicacy haven’t abandoned you in the face of this trauma.” He tosses out casually, trying to brush off the reality behind her words, because they can both see that he is tired, exhausted if truth be told, and he has an inkling that she knows exactly why that is and won’t allow him to skirt around it so easily.

“Hey,” She insists, refusing to let the subject drop or allow him to lighten things without first addressing her concerns, still studying him critically, looking definitely worried now, “I’m serious.” She tells him, reaching out and sliding her fingers under his chin to make him lift his head slightly so she can look at him properly, “You haven’t been looking after yourself.” She tells him flatly, making it perfectly clear her levels of razor sharp perception hasn’t suffered at all for her coma. 

Taking a deep breath he just shakes his head and tries to say easily, “I’m fine, Jules, really.” She squints at him, clearly not believing a word of that, “I am.” He insists, reaching forwards and giving her hand yet another little squeeze, “I’ve just, I’ve just a lot on my mind recently, work’s been a little hectic and I was worried about you too, but it’s all okay now, everything’s settled down, I’m going to be fine. I promise.”

Shifting slightly in his seat his tone becomes much sharper and sterner as he says firmly, “Don’t you start worrying about me, you just focus on yourself and getting better, you hear me?” The last thing he wants is for her to be stressing herself out over whether or not he’s taking care of herself when she needs to be concentrating on her upcoming physiotherapy and her own recovery.

“Yes Captain. Sorry, Captain.” She scowls sarcastically at him.

Leaning forwards and smiling again, he softly taps her nose to make her behave, laughing slightly at the somewhat startled expression on her face as she tries to decide how exactly to respond to that and before she can come to the no doubt impending conclusion that anger is the way she wants to handle it, he reaches over and scoops up the bag he had dumped at the bottom of her bed in his haste to get to her and pull her into his arms and dumps it onto his knee, opening it up and poking around inside it.

“I brought you a couple of things.” He tells her, managing to locate some of them and as he does so begins starting to lift them out with the intention of laying them on her bed for her inspection.

She sits up considerably straighter at that, perking up like a puppy who’s just been told it’s dinner time, “Presents?” She demands eagerly of him, craning over the side of the bed to try and see into the bag to determine what he’s brought her. 

“Essentials, don’t get too excited.” He cautions her, smiling all the same at her enthusiasm before placing a stack of neatly folded pyjamas, thicker and softer than the ones she’s wearing, onto the bed beside her, followed quickly by a few books to top her up, knowing she’s more than likely burned through the little pile he had left here for her before.

As soon as he starts producing books, her interest piques and she leans forwards, scooping two of them up at once and studying them with immediate approval, flipping them over to start reading the synopsis on the back, smiling the more that she reads, knowing he’ll have taken his time choosing these for her and knowing before she’s even read a page of them that he’s made good choices for her and that she’ll enjoy both of them.

She’s distracted part way through examining the third book he set on the bed beside her as something soft but dense is placed, tentatively somewhere around her knees and, looking up, she laughs slightly as she finds herself nose to nose with a large stuffed get well bear.

Grinning, she picks it up and moves it in a little closer, squinting over at Mike and raising her eyebrows, looking amused, “A teddy bear?” She demands of him, suppressing a laugh with difficulty.

He flushes a deep crimson colour, remarkably similar to the bow tied around the bear’s neck and mumbles feebly that, “It was, well it was all they had in the gift shop, I just thought...but if you don’t want it I’m sure I can take it back and-“

“No!” She protests forcefully, “I do.” She informs him flatly and he arches an eyebrow at her so she stubbornly hugs the bear close to her chest to prove her point to him and that makes him smile again.

Seeming to pull himself back into the present, he blinks then asks hastily, “Are the books okay? I wasn’t sure if-“

Leaning down, she gently takes his hand and squeezes it in hers, her other arm still wrapped around the ridiculous teddy, “They’re great.” She tells him softly, smiling at him, then, more sincerely, “Thank you, Mike, for everything.”

He looks a little taken aback by her tone and shakes his head slightly in confusion, “It’s...It’s only a couple of books, Jules.” He says quietly, staring up at her in surprise, her tone not at all matching her words or, what he presumes, her meaning.

“No.” She says softly, her eyes meeting and holding his, refusing to let him look away from her, “It’s not. It’s been a lot more than that.” She pauses a moment, picking at a loose thread on her blanket that he can remember toying with when he’s been here on visits. She contemplates it for a long minute but before she starts speaking again, she looks up and locks eyes with him once more, wanting him to look at her, wanting to look at him as she tells him this, “Russell told me that you came to see me a lot when I was, well,”

“Indisposed?” He supplies helpfully, his voice shaking a little despite his valiant stab at lightening the mood around the subject.

That’s not something that’s lost on her and she reaches down and gives his hand a gentle squeeze before she carries on, “Yeah. He said...”She pauses a beat, then takes a deep, slightly rattling breath and plunges forcibly on, “He said that you wouldn’t give up on me. No matter what they told you or, or how bad things seemed, you refused to give up on me.”

He feels heat creep into his cheeks at her words and the intensity of her stare and shifts a little on his chair before he tries to find an answer for her, “’Course not.” He growls tautly, blinking slowly up at her and letting his fingers run absently up and down her forearm, “I never really gave up on you at any point...” He breaks off, brow furrowing, trying to find a different way to put that, “I mean, I just mean if you ever need me, for anything, you know I’ve got your back, right? You know I won’t let you down?”

A soft smile spreads across her face and she nods earnestly at that, “I know.” She says, reaching out and gently stroking his cheek with her fingers, her smile still firmly in place, “I’ve always known that, Mike.” She breathes quietly, her eyes fixed on his, letting her fingers wrap around his thumb when he gently covers her hand with his own.

Taking a deep breath, he jerks himself out of the moment again and gets to his feet, hovering over her and looking down suddenly stern and firm, “Good.” He nods quietly, then, in a much more serious and businesslike tone, “You should some rest-“ She cuts that sentiment off with a loud groan of protest that he’s long since become immune to, “No, come on,” he coaxes firmly, perching on the edge of her bed again and sliding his fingers under her chin, tilting her head up so she’s looking straight at him and he can peer properly into her eyes, “You look exhausted.”

“Charming.” She huffs irritably, crossing her arms mutinously across her chest.

He ignores this and carries on as if there had been no interruption, “Don’t start overdoing things and setting yourself back. You’ve been through a lot these past few months and I’d rather you didn’t go through it again so just, take it easy, listen to your doctors, do as you’re told, for once in your life, please.”

She scowls at the very thought of this and, “I feel _fine.”_ She insists starkly to him.

“Well, let’s keep it that way.” He counters smoothly, meeting her steely gaze with one equally as set and stubborn, making it clear he has absolutely no intention of wavering on this point. Leaning in, he brushes a strand of her hair behind her ear and says, his tone softening, “I just don’t want you doing yourself any damage trying to do too much too soon. I want you out of here and home and fully recovered as soon as possible but you’re going to need to do things properly. And that means resting and taking time to really heal, okay?”

Somehow, she finds herself quietly nodding, hearing the pronounced worry in his tone and seeing it clearly in those eyes she fell so easily in love with and still struggles to refuse when he looks at her the way he’s doing now. He does only want what’s best for her, she reminds herself as she does as he wants and wriggles down under the covers until she’s lying down again, blinking owlishly up at him.

Smiling quietly, he picks up her teddy and makes a fuss of tucking him in beside her which makes her laugh and pick it up and whack him with it, which earns her a very disapproving and reproachful glower that only makes her laugh a little harder.

Shaking his head at her, unable to stop himself smiling, he sets the bear on her bedside cabinet instead and takes to fluffing up her pillows and smoothing down her sheets, making her almost sorry Russell and his now evidently tame mollycoddling aren’t here. Still, there’s something nice about it, she supposes, knowing how much he cares about her and knowing that this is just his way of showing that so she lets him fuss as much as he needs to to settle both her and himself.

“If I rest properly will you get me something to eat?” She demands of him, quirking an eyebrow and squinting up at him as he slides off her bed and starts putting the finishing touches to making her comfortable. 

“Sure.” He says at once, smiling down at her.

“That _isn’t_ from the hospital.” She emphasises in a dangerous tone that suggests if he tries to feed her more hospital food she’ll find a way to do him a serious injury, recent coma or no.

He chuckles lightly at her tone and nods, “What are you hungry for?”

She considers this for a moment, deciding what to do with this almost unlimited power he’s just handed her, knowing that he’ll go out of his way to find her what she’s after. Finally, with a small smile, she settles, “Pancakes.” She announces firmly.

Shaking his head, half in amusement and half in reproach he cautions, “I don’t know if your doctors would like that.”

“ _You’re_ not my doctors.” She points out reasonably, gazing beseechingly up at him as she does so, “And you just said you’d always have my back, that you’d never ever let me down. I’ll be let down if I don’t get my pancakes, Mike, I’ll be so badly let down that-“

Shaking his head and shaking with suppressed laughter at this barrage of emotional blackmail all in the name of some fluffy pancakes, he delights her by nodding faintly, then surprises her by leaning down and very gently kissing her forehead, stroking back her hair as he straightens up and promises quietly, “I’ll see what I can do.” He pauses then amends gruffly, “So long as you see what you can do about resting.”

Smiling, she immediately and obligingly closes her eyes for him and that sets him to chuckling again. He settles himself down in the chair beside her, watching her as she squirms and wriggles around under the covers, trying to get comfortable, then she settles and gradually her breathing begins to slow. After that she’s asleep in mere minutes, something he had always marvelled at when they had been married, and proving to him how tired she had been. He watches her for a little while longer then slips out, wondering where he’s going to find pancakes that live up to her expectations and knowing he’s going to have to try somehow.

****

He returns a few hours later and finds her yawning and stretching like a cat in bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and trying to push herself back up onto her pillows. Seeing this, he hastily drops the boxes he’s brought onto her bedside cabinet and hastens to her side, sliding his hands very gently under her and helping to prop her up again.

Panting a little, she nods her thanks then, regaining her composure once more, smiles broadly at him, still yawning and rubbing her eyes. He smiles and produces the pancakes he’s brought for her, which perks her up immediately and she dives into them almost before he’s properly opened them.

He watches her happily devour them one by one, her capacity for pancakes also seemingly untouched by her coma and still, despite the expectation, being a little shocking that such a small person can have such a large appetite. He knows better than to voice this though, and mostly just sits and watches her munch through the large stack, occasionally managing to swipe a few pieces for himself. 

Once she’s finished, she lies back on her pillows, eyes closed, sighing contentedly, a soft smile lingering about her lips as she turns her head to the side to look at him and inform him dopily that he’s just going to have to live here so he can bring her pancakes every single day. 

He snorts in amusement at that, “Lovely, Jules.” He mock grumbles at her, “To know that that’s my only value to you. As a pancake delivery man.”

She grins at him, “I’m sure I can find more uses for you than that.” She tells him playfully, smirking at him in a way that’s painfully familiar and still as bad for him today as it was all those years ago in PD.

“Such a charming little sweetheart.” He says, trying to brush off that feeling, rolling his eyes at her, “You should have put my usefulness in finding you food in your wedding vows when we got married.”

Smiling over at him, her face softens and relaxes as she looks at him, “I’ve missed you, Mike.” She says quietly and sincerely, taking him aback slightly at the sudden change in the tone of their conversation.

He nods slowly, “I’ve missed you too, Jules.”                                                                              

The moment stretches and expands between them and before it can start drifting places he thinks are a bad idea for them both, he clears his throat and hastily changes the subject, chatting away about some new reality cooking show he spied the other night that he thinks she’d like.

The rest of the evening passes in a haze of talk and laughter as they slip easily back into their well-worn habit of talking about nothing and passing hours without either of them noticing it. She feels so comfortable with him and it’s still so easy to just talk to him and get on with him without any awkwardness. He still knows exactly how to make her smile and laugh as well and she realises how much she’s enjoying this and how much she’s missed having someone like this in her life.

Someone who knows her at times better than she knows herself, which is never something she would admit to him but she knows that it’s true all the same. Someone who cares so fully and genuinely about her. Someone who can sense on instinct how she’s feeling and what she needs, slipping an extra blanket over her legs while they talk or pouring out a glass of water while still nodding along to whatever she’s saying. They’re just little things but she’s missed that intimacy in a partner, something she realises she hasn’t really had since him, something that’s been lacking, and makes itself known now that she has it again.

By the time it starts getting really late and he’s anxiously checking his watch, trying to squeeze just a few more minutes here and there, she knows that it’s almost time for him to leave and, just as certainly, she knows that she doesn’t want him to.

 Which is something she can’t help voicing when he starts making attempts to pack up his things. Her hand stretches out and catches his wrist as he passes by the bed beside her and that makes him stop, late though he is. The words she wanted to say to him, about how she wants him to stay, how she doesn’t want him to leave, how she’s had such a good time with him tonight and that she doesn’t want it to end, all stick in her throat and she finds herself simply opening and closing her mouth, gazing hopelessly up at him from the bed, feeling suddenly so feeble and useless.

But he seems to understand exactly what the matter is and exactly what she’s worried about and sits back down on the side of her bed again, smiling softly and giving her hand a quick, gentle squeeze, “I’ll be back soon, as soon as I can.” He murmurs softly, “I’d stay now but I still need to get some things tidied up in Seattle. But once I have I’ll be right here with you again. And I’ll stay longer next time, I promise.”

Nodding and smiles up at him, more so when he leans down and presses a soft, swift little kiss to her cheek.

****

 


	10. Nostalgia

_ Part  10 –Nostalgia _

The next time he comes to see her, she’s asleep when he pushes quietly into the room beside her. He can’t stop the faint jolt of fear that lances through him like a bolt of lightning across a dark, furious storm tossed sky as he remembers all the times he had visited her and found her in her coma, unsure if she would ever wake up again. But he calms himself, remembering forcefully that she’s alright now, that she woke up, that everything will be alright now.

Closing the door quietly behind him before the general noise and bustle of the hospital beyond, not to mention the searing lights from the ceiling above wakes her up, he moves into the room, trying not to make any sounds and slips quietly into the chair beside her bed, drawing it out and dropping gratefully into it. It had been a long trip, and he’s glad to be here with her now.

As he waits for her to wake up again, he slips his bag off of his shoulder and lowers it quietly to the ground, putting the sandwiches he’s brought for her on her bedside cabinet beside, he sees with a small smile, the little get well bear he had bought for her and she had scoffed at on his last visit. Stretching up he straightens the red bow around its neck, to give himself something to do with his hands for a moment, then lapses into stillness and silence once more.

His eyes drift over to her and notice immediately that her sleep doesn’t look as peaceful today as he it had before. She twitches and tosses and turns a little bit in bed every few minutes, a sign that he had long ago learned to interpret as her being trapped in some nightmare or other. Heart going out to her because of that, realising that, while she might have woken up and have started to fully physically heal from her trauma, she’s never going to be free of it entirely, it’s always going to haunt her, always going to be with her, a constant spectre in the background for the rest of her life.

Anger surges through him at that thought, for what that son of a bitch did to her. Prison was far too good for him, and so he thinks savagely as he watches her face contract slightly in fear again. He wants to be able to help her, he wants to be able to comfort her, to pull her out of this and tell her that she’s alright, that no-one can hurt her, that no-one will hurt her ever again, he’ll make damn sure of that.

Unable to do so however, he makes do with reaching out and very gently, so as not to startle her, twines his fingers through hers, giving it a soft squeeze, watching her for the next twenty minutes or so until she finally starts awake, staring straight up at the ceiling and panting, her eyes wide and fearful, the whites visible even from the angle he’s sitting it.

Releasing her hand he quickly hops up onto the bed beside her, murmuring her name and trying to focus her on him instead of her nightmare. It works, her eyes find his and something in them seems to soften slightly. He nods to her, coaxing and encouraging her to calm down a little bit. Her hand scrabbles faintly against his side and, without taking his eyes from hers, he reaches down and catches it in his own, feeling her cling onto it with a desperate strength, fixedly holding his gaze as she starts to settle out.

Finally, she blinks a few times and takes a deep, shuddering breath then mumbles feebly, “I’m sorry, Mike, I-“

“Hey.” He whispers, leaning down and softly brushing her hair behind her ear, shaking his head firmly, “Don’t, you, you don’t have to apologise for that.” Dipping down a little, he slides an arm carefully around her torso, placing the other beneath her legs, and asks as he helps sit her up, knowing she’ll be drained after the nightmare, “How are you feeling? Bad dreams aside?”

Smiling almost shyly she says, “Much better for having seen you.”

He lets a small huff of laughter escape him at that, then, lightly tapping her nose, says, “C’mon, seriously. How are you doing?”

Stretching and wincing slightly, something he makes definite note of, she shrugs expansively, “Okay.” She settles for, helpfully, after a moment’s consideration of his question. He sighs in exasperation at this lack of news and she endeavours to give him something more to work with, adding, “The physio’s going well. Russell’s been great.” She says with a warm smile, “He visits as often as he can and checks in with me. The doctors are managing the pain and they’re telling me I’m on track for where I should be at this point.” Smiling at him she says steadily, “I’m getting there, Mike.”

“Good.” He says fervently, feeling around behind him for his chair and dragging it towards him as he sinks back down into it, “That’s really good, Jules.” He breathes warmly, beaming up at her.

“What about you?” She asks, reaching out and brushing his cheek with her hand, her movements rather clumsy from sleep, “How are you doing?”

He blinks in surprise at the question then says gruffly, “I’m not the one who’s just come round from a five month coma, Jules.”

“I’m not asking if you’ve just come round from a five month coma.” She grumbles, glowering impatiently at him with such a familiar look on her face that he almost smiles fondly, resisting only because he knows it’ll only serve to irritate her further, which is something he isn’t keen on encouraging while she’s still in the hospital, “I’m asking you how you’re doing. If you’re okay?”

“I, yeah.” He tells her, still a little bemused by the intensity of her questioning on this subject, “I’m fine, I’m, I’m good.”

Squinting at him as though trying to pick holes in this assertion, she raises an eyebrow and presses relentlessly, “You’re looking after yourself properly? You’re getting enough sleep and not working too hard?”

“Yes ma’am, no ma’am.” He tosses out easily, grinning and leaning back in his chair but she continues to look so worried that he quickly leans back in again, “Where is all of this coming from, Jules?” He asks her, instinctively taking her hand again.

Flushing and looking a little sheepish as she tries to answer she just mumbles thickly, “I know you, Mike.” He blinks up at her, still not seeing where she’s going with all of this. Looking increasingly more uncomfortable and like she’s wishing she hadn’t said anything, she starts tugging aimlessly at one of her bed sheets, muttering that, “I just know what you’re like. When you get worried about something you stop taking care of yourself, you start doing stupid things and I just...Well, I...I care about you Mike.” She blurts out all in a rush, “I want you to be okay, I-“

“Hey, hey,” He reaches forwards and takes her hand between both of his own, drawing it away from the sheet she seems intent on shredding into fine pieces before this conversation is done, “Look at me.” He says softly, and she does, “I am fine. I promise you, there is nothing wrong with me, nothing you need to worry about.”

 She opens her mouth to protest but he squeezes her hand and stops her, “I was worried. Really worried about you.” He confesses quietly, “And maybe, maybe you’re right, maybe I didn’t take such good care of myself then.” Her eyes widen slightly and he plunges hastily on, “But I’m okay now. Because you’re okay. I don’t have to worry about losing you, because you’re not going anywhere, right?” Smiling faintly she shakes her head, “No. Good.” He says flatly, “Neither am I, so you just, stop stressing about that, alright?” She nods at him, looking much happier and he smiles back, content after studying at her for a few moments.

Taking a deep breath, he claps his hands together and asks bracingly, “You hungry?” When she nods enthusiastically, he opens up the sandwiches he’s brought her and dishes out her half, and then a little of his half as well, deciding she needs it to get her strength up again.

As he watches her happily wolf down the food he’s brought her, she chatters away to him, apparently content with all of her worries for him now, and asks between mouthfuls about life in the outside world, as she dramatically terms it. He can tell from that that she’s already beginning to climb the walls in here with boredom and he picks through all of the little stories and anecdotes he’s saved up over the last week or so with the intention of telling her.

The sound of her laughter never fails to make him smile and that’s exactly the case now as he watches her animatedly respond to the things he tells her about mutual acquaintances they have up in Seattle, people he knows she’ll remember and little bits of gossip he knows will perk her up as soon as she hears them, which of course they do.

They had used to spend hours in this fashion in Seattle years ago, even before they had started hooking up with one another. Closeting themselves together in a little booth in their favourite bar, their hands clutching drinks that they barely ever raised to their lips, too busy talking, they had exchanged what they had heard from the department rumour mill which was, and still remained, legendary.

There had been something cathartic about it then, putting his head together with hers and discussing various shocking and unbelievable events and scandals that had gripped PD. It proves the same now and he can tell she’s been starved of this, something that connects her to somewhere that isn’t this hospital and something that isn’t her recovery.

After they’ve thoroughly worn out that topic, which takes quite a while considering she doesn’t know these people anymore and can’t argue back with him, or rather, she shouldn’t have been able to but had made a good stab at it all the same. Then she sits up a little straighter and demands to know how the Seahawks are fairing this season, Russell has been all but useless in keeping her sufficiently topped up on the subject and none of the team cares enough about them to be of much more use to her. 

Smiling he settles back in his chair and they pass another happy few hours roundly debating and bickering about their team, the line-up for this year, the matches that are to come and how they’re going to fair, and favourite and least favourite players. As usual, they clash horribly on almost every point, which is of course where the attraction comes and he finds himself shaking his head and laughing hopelessly as she refuses point blank to back down on a single point, despite not having known any information about it until he had just told her, like a bulldog with a choice bone she refused point blank to surrender her position or give so much as an inch of ground to him.

In the end he throws his hands up, his white flag of submission and she settles back against her pillows looking utterly smug and superior. Shaking his head and still grinning, he starts to slip out of her room, with her calling after him to demand, “Where are you going, Mike? It’s not right to run away so soon after a defeat, you need to give your victorious opponent proper time to gloat.”

Waving a hand to quieten her he promises he’ll be back shortly then disappears off. He returns, twenty minutes later, to break one of her doctors rules, just this once, and presents her with a box of her favourite pizza, from her favourite pizza place. The look in her eyes when he opens it up and shows it to her suggests that if he’d marched a priest in here along with the Hawaiian she’d have been willing to marry him all over again on the spot without a second thought.

“Pace yourself.” He laughs as she attacks it as though she hasn’t seen food in months, “It’s not going to evaporate if you don’t eat it all in a certain time, don’t make yourself ill, enjoy it.”

She mumbles something thickly through her mouthful of pizza that he doesn’t quite catch but he laughs anyway, stretching over and helping himself to a piece of pizza which earns him a look of deepest indignation and loathing from her as she lifts the lid of the box to shield it from him. He widens his eyes reproachfully at her, having just taken a bite that prevents him responding with words. She narrows her eyes and he widens his still further, pleadingly, until, grumbling, she relents and nudges the box a little closer to him so he can reach it as well.

Afterwards, full of pizza and content again, she stretches out on her bed, flopping back against her pillows, a small smile on her lips. He finds himself smiling as well as he clears up the evidence of the crime of feeding her pizza, hoping her doctors won’t notice and decide he’s a bad influence on her.

As he’s returning to his seat, she stretches out a hand to him and catches his wrist, looking up at him through shy eyes, flushing a little bit, though he can’t understand why. Stopping as she wants, he peers down at her, waiting for her to say what’s on her mind and, after a long moment, she says slowly, “Would you...Would you come here.”

Sinking down slowly he perches on the edge of her bed, wondering if that’s what she means and looks questioningly down at her but she shakes her head and then shifts over a little bit, giving him considerably more space, “I mean...I mean would you come up here and, and hold me.” She’s a deep shade of crimson by the time she finishes this request, which takes him aback, but she seems to steel herself on the point by folding back the covers and exposing the bed beneath, clearly inviting him up beside her.

Pushing himself up with every intention of doing what she wants, he hesitates another moment, suddenly concerned, “You’re sure?” He checks with her, “I, I don’t want to hurt you, Jules.”

“You won’t.” She promises, patting the bed with the flat of her hand until he does as he’s told and slides his shoes off, easing himself into the bed beside her and then, even more gently and carefully, scooping her up and settling her down on top of him.

A smile spreads across her face at that and she squirms in his lap a moment, while he raises his arms, letting her get comfortable then, when she finally chooses her spot and settles down happily, her head nestled against his chest, he drapes his arms gently around her and holds her close to him, leaning back and letting himself relax into this, his fingers trailing absently up and down her spine the way he knows she’s fond of him doing.

He realises a few minutes later, as she wraps her arms around his torso and nuzzles in warmly, as though seeking to fuse their bodies together, that she’s probably starved of human contact and affection and just needs to feel close to someone for a little while, something that he’s more than willing to give her as much as he can while he’s here.

There’s a strange familiarity to this embrace; his body remembers hers and deftly fits itself around her, his fingers find the precise spots on her back that make her smile and snuggle in a little harder against him. While at the same time it somehow feels new and exciting in the context of this relationship that they have now.

He still has no idea what that is or how he feels about her; or about any of this, it’s all too tangled and mixed up and confusing. He cares about her maybe more than anyone might expect him to care about his ex-wife. But then, they were never married to her. Those years that he was married to her, that he was with her, that they were an inseparable unit, were some of the happiest of his life. She made him so happy and when it had broken down and crumbled apart around him, it had taken a lot to get over.

In some ways, he thinks he never really did. There have been other people since her, but none of them have come close to making him feel the way that she did and none of the relationships lasted. This though, here, with her curled up against him feels right in a way that none of them had, feels so natural, as though this is the way it’s supposed to be, this is where he belongs, here beside her.

This feels understandably like something he could never let go of, something he should never have let go of the first time, or the second when she had come so briefly back into his life again. This feels like something that he shouldn’t want as badly as he does but he can’t help himself. This feels _good_. And none of it is simple or easy but then it never was, and he probably wouldn’t have been as affected by all of it if it had been.

But even if all of that is true, even if he might want to try again with her, even if he might want to try and make it work this time, even if he might want nothing more than to be with her once more, he has no guarantee, no faint inkling that she might want the same thing. And she’s dealing with more than enough at the moment without trying to handle him confessing that he wants to be with her again. That’s not fair on her, it’s not fair on either of them. She needs to be able to concentrate on getting through her recovery, and that’s what he should be concentrating on as well.

His body is soft and warm against hers and she sinks in to him on instinct. She had always felt safe and comfortable in his arms. When she had nightmares before, with him, she would bury herself against his chest and close her eyes and wait for his arms to rise around her, enveloping her in him and keeping her so close to him and so secure with him wrapped about her that it was only a matter of minutes before she calmed down and started sinking back into sleep once more.

This man she knows so well, this man she loved so well at one point of her life, that she can’t ever seem to escape from, that she can’t ever seem to want to. Even when they were hurtling towards divorce, that hadn’t been what she had wanted, even when things had become bitter and angry and twisted beyond all recognition of them, a part of her had still wanted him.

A part of her still did. There was something that she had had with him; that she still had, if her memory of the entirely memorable night they had spent together in Seattle held true; that she had never been able to find with anyone else.

Their relationship had been volatile and at times turbulent but it had also been sincere and as soft as it was hot sometimes, passion tempered always by affection, heat tempered by care, lust tempered by love and it had been dynamic and exciting and intoxicating and it still made her a little high just to think about it.

Their love had been captivating and consuming and in the end they had both burned up in its clutches, still clinging to each other through the smoke and the flames, unwilling to let go until there was nothing left but dust and ash and they couldn’t find enough pieces of themselves to even recognise let alone put back together. They had burned each other too badly, they had hurt each other too badly and it had all come apart with them unable to do a damn thing about it.

Yet here he was. His arms around her. His hand rubbing up and down her back. His fingers tangling in her hair. His lips pressing soft kisses to the top of her head. He had come to her, driven by terror and a desperation to see for himself that she was alright and he had stayed. For months and months he had stayed by her side, he had kept faith, he had refused to listen to anyone, doctors and nurses or even Russell, when they told him that things were looking bad for her. And he was here with her no, so happy that she was going to be alright, so relieved that she was going to recover from all of this.

They hadn’t been married and in a relationship together for near enough four years now. But there was no question of how much he cared about her, and she hadn’t been at all surprised when she had realised that he had come to see her. She knew him, after all, and in knowing him, knew that he needed her to be okay.

Whatever their relationship was now, whatever it was that she felt for him, or that he felt for her, she knew that he was always going to care about her, and care for her; and she for him, on both counts. 

Feeling her shift slightly against him, he looks down as she stretches over to her bedside cabinet, one of his hands resting carefully on her side, ready to pull her back to safety if she overbalances, but she tugs herself back down against him once more, now with a book clutched in her hands.

Blinking up at him, she hesitates for a fraction of a second then presses it gently against his chest, her eyes wide and beseeching as she stares up at him, “Would you read to me?” She asks him quietly, feeling heat creep up into her cheeks again, “Just for a little while?”

Smiling quietly, he wordlessly opens the book and rests it open on his knees while he reaches down and rummages in his bag for a few moments before drawing out his glasses and sliding them onto his nose. Settling himself once more, he picks up the book, makes sure that they’re both comfortable, then begins to read to her in a low, measured voice.

After a few hours, he stops again, marking the page and closing the book, placing it gently on the table beside him, shifting his position ever so slightly, his arm curving protectively about her and drawing her in more closely against him, trying not to disturb her as she continues to sleep contentedly, her head pillowed on his shoulder.

****

 


	11. Hurricane

_ Part 11 –Hurricane  _

The hospital corridors are dark and quiet when he next walks through them, nodding at one or two of the nurses that he recognises, and that recognise him as well by now, after the number of times he’s been here. Things are calm and peaceful, a world away from the hectic whirlwind the rest of his week has been in Seattle, where things had seemed to go from bad to worse to impossible in the space of about three hours. The result being that he’s utterly exhausted and all he wants to do now is see her smiling up at him and sit and talk and feel at ease with her again.

As he turns into the corridor her room is on however, he’s surprised to find Russell floating aimlessly up and down the halls, looking a little at a loss for any purpose or reason for this. Taking a slight detour, he walks past her room to greet the other man, nodding as he approaches and briefly clasping hands with him in welcome.

“What’s going on?” He asks, perplexed, deciding not to drag things out and simply get to the point, something that Russell looks as though he could use.

The answer he’s given isn’t entirely reassuring. Russell grimaces up at him, glancing back towards her room before he shakes his head and says, “I don’t know. She won’t talk to me about it but...” He trails off, seemingly searching for a way to put the problem delicately, “She’s been in a bit of a funny way, today.” He says eventually.

Mike frowns at that, trying to make sense out of it, she had been in great spirits when he had left her last, and they had spoken on the phone just last night and she sounded fine then as well, so he can’t understand what might be wrong with her now.

“In what way exactly?” He asks, crossing his arms over his chest and trying to get a little information, worried now.

Russell grimaces hopelessly, “She just totally shut down on me.” He says ,shaking his head, looking as concerned as he feels, “She barely said two words the whole time I was with her, she doesn’t seem in the mood for company. She’s taciturn and restless, irritable, snapping at everyone...” He trails off, looking miserable and uncomfortable talking about her like this.

“Well,” Mike says, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to digest this, “Well she’s probably just sick of being cooped up in here all day every day, it’s been a couple of months now, you know her, you know how she is, she must hate this, she’ll just be a little frustrated, that’ll be all.” He says, trying to make his voice bracing and more optimistic than he feels having heard all of that.

 But this behaviour could equally mean that something has gone wrong, something that’s scaring her but she’s trying to keep up appearances, not crack, put on a brave face and push anyone who might actually see through this away from her, the way she seems to have done today with Russell. 

He decides not to air any of these worries just yet, Russell seems concerned enough without him adding that on top as well and, smiling and trying to project more confident bravado than he feels he says, “I’ll just drop in and see her quickly, let her know that I’m here then we can decide where we go from there.” Pausing a moment, he says, more seriously, “You should go home. You look exhausted. I’ll let you know if she’s...Well if there’s any reason you need to come back, okay?”

Russell nods, seeming to sag slightly at these words and wanders back down the corridor. He watches him out of sight before he backtracks along the corridor and moves to stand outside her door. If she’s still not up to visitors he’ll go, but on the off chance she might want some company now, her expelling Russell no doubt having been an impulsive move that she might have since come to regret, he decides to go and see her and give her the option instead of just leaving and potentially making her feel unwanted and worse.

Knocking gently on the door, he pushes carefully inside. The room is dark, all of the blinds tilted and the curtains drawn, meaning that most of the light in there spills from the corridor outside that he’s just exposed by opening the door. Taking this as an ominous sign, he lets his eyes accustom slightly to the dimness until he manages to make her out in front of him.

 She’s hunched up on the bed, having curled herself into a tight little ball, the sheets around her legs a confused, messy tangle due to the fact that she’s drawn her knees right up to her chest, and sandwiched between them is the unfortunate bear he had bought her on his first visit, the same bear that she’s currently sobbing quietly into.

That realisation hits him like a hard punch to his stomach and he stops, frozen in the door. She doesn’t seem to have noticed anyone has come in, her face is buried in the thick honey coloured fur that seems to be quite adept at soaking up her tears and the faint, gasping sounds of her hitching breathing.

His brain finally managing to free itself of whatever was jamming it up; he hurries into the room, wanting to go to her, to hold her, to comfort her if she’ll allow him to. Letting the door fall thoughtlessly behind him, it bangs slightly as it hits the frame, which causes her to jump, violently, raising her eyes from the now decidedly damp teddy, to blink, blearily up at him through streaming eyes.

Recognising him, she gives a faint little squeak of distress and hastily wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, getting rid of the tears that were already staining her cheeks but doing nothing to stop the fresh ones that fall almost at once to replace them.

“Oh, I, I forgot you were coming today.” She chokes out at the sight of him as he rushes over to her side, “I, I‘m sorry, Mike, I’m sorry-“ Her desperate anguish at this causes a fresh wave of tears to course down her cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey-“ he says quickly, sinking down onto the bed beside her after a moment’s hesitation to consider the situation, then he mutters softly, “Don’t be stupid. C’mere.” Leaning down, he scoops her up easily and settles her down gently onto his lap, cradling her tenderly against his chest, letting her nuzzle in against him, her fist grabbing a handful of his shirt and refusing to let go, clinging to it like a lifeline.

Placing a hand gently on the top of her head and holding it gently to his chest, he rocks her back and forth a few moments, while she snuffles against him and grips so tightly onto his shirt that she’s creasing it badly, but he doesn’t care. “What’s wrong?” He whispers softly, pressing his lips tenderly to the top of her head, breathing her in and trying to calm them both down.

Taking several, heaving, ragged breaths and refusing to look at him, burying into his chest instead so that her words come out a little muffled, though still perfectly audible in the quiet that fills her room, “I’m sick of being _useless_.”She growls in a feeble little snarl, pounding her fist weakly against his arm in a pathetic expression of her frustration.

Before he can think of anything to say to this, she goes on, choking on her rage and misery, “I can barely stand. I can’t walk down a corridor. I can’t even dress myself.” She rasps hopelessly, clinging so hard onto his arm that it’s almost painful, but he can feel her hand shaking with the effort of making the fist and holding on so tight, “my hands shake if I hold anything heavier than a pen. What if that never goes away?”

 And now he hears fear in her voice as well, trembling through her and her whole body shakes against his, her voice now much higher than usual, “What if that never gets better? What if they’re like that forever? What if I can’t work again because of it? How can I work with shaky hands, how can I collect evidence or, or reconstruct crime scenes or, what would I do?”

She sounds so feeble, so terrified and she nestles in against him like a small child and all he wants to do is shelter her from this, protect her from the terrors that have been plaguing her, her shortness and irritability with Russell earlier suddenly completely understandable and he wonders how long she’s been torturing herself with this in silence for.

“It’s not going to be like that.” He whispers soothingly, rubbing her back and feeling useless himself, not knowing what to say, unable to bear how she’s feeling, “You’re going to your physio, it’s going to work, you’re going to get better, it-“

“How do you know?” She demands shrilly, staring up at him with wide, streaming eyes, “How do you know that Mike? What if I don’t? What if I don’t?”

“We’ll work it out.” He insists firmly, knowing that she’s terrified, knowing that he’s not a doctor and can’t offer her any sort of medical diagnosis but equally knowing that Russell would never let that stop her coming back to work if her mind was as sharp as ever, which it clearly was, they would find some way to work around it and integrate her into the team again, though he knows she’ll hate feeling like she’s relying on others to do her job, they would never just cast her out and abandon her after what had happened, “You won’t be left alone, you won’t be abandoned, if worst comes to worst then we’ll deal with that when it happens, but you’ll still be able to work, we’ll make damn sure of that.”

He isn’t sure if she’s really listening to him, or if she’s hearing him properly, and a moment later, her emotion spills out beyond her control again and she chokes out, “I _hate_ this.” In a tiny, battered voice, “I hate that sick, twisted son of a bitch.” She adds, her voice constricted with fury and grief, “I hate what he’s done to me, I hate what he’s still doing to me, I hate that he has this hold over me, I hate that it’s been months and _months_ and I’m still, he’s still-“

 She breaks off, panting, her breathing ragged and interrupting her speech and he softly rubs her back again, keeping quiet now, letting her speak and take as much time as she needs to get the words out, “I just hate it.” She whispers hopelessly, cuddling in to him, tears sparking in her eyes again, “I hate it all, I hate feeling so useless, I hate feeling like he’s won, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it, I, I-“

At that point however, even he can’t understand what she’s trying to say as she breaks down completely and seems to give up the idea of expressing herself, burrowing in his chest and howling into it, tears soaking into his shirt as she sobs and he knows that she’ll hate this too, hate being brought to this point by him, hate that he’s still inside her head and under her skin, that she’s still suffering the effects of what he did to her and that she has no way to rid herself of him.

Closing his eyes, he rests his chin on the top of her head, fully enclosing her in his body, wanting nothing more than to shield her from this, to protect her, to take all of her pain for himself if he could because God knows she’s suffered enough because of this case and he has no wish whatsoever to see her go through anymore because of this.

He just wants her to heal, just wants her to be able to go home, to be fully recovered and start getting on with her life. He knows that she feels as though she’s stagnating shut up in this hospital, like she can’t move on, she can’t get away from any of this while she’s still stuck here because of it. But she’ll get there,  she will, she’ll get there, she’ll be okay, she’s strong, stronger than she knows and he’s sure she’ll make it through this.

Gently rubbing her back, up and down in broad, controlled motions, trying to calm her down as her breath catches and hitches as she struggles to breathe for her crying, “That’s it, that’s it there you go, just get it all out, it’s alright.” He whispers softly to her, pressing his lips gently to the top of her head, “It’s alright, you’re alright, I’m here, I’m here I’ve got you, I’ve got you, Jules.” He breathes quietly, his eyes screwed up in pain listening to her obvious anguish and wishing he could do more, “It’s okay.” He promises hollowly, “It’s okay, shh, there, it’s all okay, I’m here, I’m right here, you’re going to be okay, there, you’re okay.”

Burying into him she sobs even harder at his tender, soothing words, her hand clinging onto his arm as tightly as she can manage. She already feels drained and exhausted from this massive overexertion but she just can’t stop crying for all of that. Beneath her own agony, she can feel gratitude welling up for Mike as he just patiently holds her to him, rubbing her back and stroking her hair, murmuring quietly to her and doing everything he can to make this easier on her.

And it helps. It had always helped, having him there when she was scared or upset. Even those times she couldn’t admit to anyone else that she was suffering, on those occasions that she couldn’t even admit it to herself yet, he would know and he would be there for her and so many times he just seemed to know what to do or what to say to help her get through it.

She’s so thankful that he’s here with her now, that she doesn’t have to go through all of this alone that even here, alone in this damn hospital, cut off from everyone and everything, climbing the walls in her boredom and frustration, a few minutes spent in his arms is enough to remind her that he’s here for her, that she’s not alone, that she’s always going to have him, that he’s always going to be there for her if she needs him. That thought is more comforting than she can possibly put into words and one of the first things that manages to break through to her and start calming her down while she continues to grip tightly onto his arm for support and reassurance.

Finally, she manages to hiccup herself into silence once more, still nestled so close in against him and then the guilt and the shame start building up inside her and filling her and making her so uncomfortable that eventually she bursts out in a muffled little mumble against his chest, “I’m sorry, Mike, I-“ 

Predictably, he just gives her an extra tight little squeeze and growls gruffly, “Don’t be stupid, Jules, you don’t have to apologise for any of this, and definitely not to me.” He tells her sternly, “This is natural, okay? You’ve been through a Hell of a lot in the last few months. And I know this is frustrating and you feel like you must be missing so much and that he’s taken so much away but you’re _here_ , you’re alive, you’re going to make it through this.”

Pausing a moment to compose himself, he takes a deep breath then goes on a little more steadily, “You’ve only been awake for two months. You have to stop expecting so much of yourself, too much, and pushing yourself too hard. It’s not good for you, you’re just going to end up doing more damage.” She snuffles a little at this, tightening her arms around him and he softly strokes her hair, going on quietly, “This is going to take time, and I know that’s frustrating but you’ll get there, you will, I promise.”

 He hesitates a beat, then plunges on, “Remember when I was shot? When we were still married?” She nods feebly, gripping a little more tightly onto his arm at the mention, as though she remembers only too well and would rather not, “Then you remember how long I was out after that happened?” He continues quietly and she nods again, still clinging onto him, “And I was only out of it for a couple of weeks. You were in a coma for nearly five months, Jules, your heart had stopped when they found you, they thought you were going to die on the table and you didn’t. You went through so much and you came out the other side, you’ll get through this too, I know you will.”

She blinks up at him with slightly watery eyes and he leans down, gently kissing her forehead and stroking back her hair, “In the meantime,” He presses on looking determinedly into her eyes now as he breathes softly, “I am so proud of you.”

A small smile spreads across her face at that and she stretches up in his arms and lightly kisses his cheek, “Thanks, Mike.” She mumbles, settling down again, a good deal happier now.

Shifting slightly into a more comfortable position, he lets his tone lighten significantly as he says evenly, “You have physio this afternoon right?”

 She nods, looking glum again, face falling at the mention. He gently prods her side in reproach for this attitude and she squeals in surprise and whacks him hard in the chest in punishment, which makes him chuckle.

Once she’s settled again, he takes another stab at actually getting to the point he’d meant to, “How about I come with you? For, for moral support?” He suggests cautiously, peering down at her to see how she takes this, “Would you like that?” He prompts, finding her expression maddeningly neutral and hard to read.

She ponders this for a moment then nods firmly, smiling again as she burrows into his chest once more.

****

 


	12. System Support

_ Part 12 –System Support  _

As promised, he manages to charm his way into her physiotherapy appointment that afternoon to see how she’s getting on. He can see that she’s still a little down about what she’d been so upset about earlier and her eyes still look a little red and puffy from all her crying, her voice bearing witness to what had happened as well, being hoarser and croakier than usual, raw and ravaged after the stress it had been put through.

Still, she attacks the exercises she’s given to do with her usual tenacity and he talks away to her by turns just trying to distract and take her mind off of things or else encourage her depending on how he thinks she’s doing.

Overall, he’s impressed by what she’s managing and the guidance she gets given most often by her disapproving nurse is to stop pushing things so hard and overdoing it before she does more damage. This is something that he gently tries to echo with an increasing number of scowls directed at him.

“C’mon,” He huffs after a particularly vicious little snarl that had followed him actually trying to ease a weight from her hands that she could barely lift off the ground never mind complete her task with, “Don’t you remember when I was shot? When they finally let me come home you confined me to the couch and told me in no uncertain terms if I tried to move or do anything for myself you would withhold sex from me for the rest of our marria-“

“That’s _different_ , Mike.” She grumbles irritably, finally, mercifully, seeing sense with the weight and selecting a slightly smaller, more manageable one that he tries to subtly nudge towards her, though apparently not subtly enough because he gets fixed with the expected glower, though she doesn’t say anything.

“No it isn’t.” He says flatly, “You wanted to look after me, to stop me going too far and doing damage to myself. That’s what I’m trying to do here for you, how is it any different?”

“We were _married_ then.” She huffs at him, as though this should have been blindingly obvious, hoisting the weight into her arms and looking as though she’s becoming increasingly tempted to crack him over the head with it if he keeps trying to save her from herself.

“So if we were married now you would listen to me?” He asks, brow furrowed, trying to determine exactly what point she’s making.

“No.” She replies smoothly, “But it’d be much easier to bend you to my will by threatening to withhold sex again.” He bursts out laughing at that and she cracks a little smile as well, despite the obvious strain the simple exercises are demanding of her. “I thought you were here for moral support.” She growls at him, swapping arms with the weight, “You’re not being very supportive, you keep telling me to stop doing things.”

“Because there’s a difference between doing things and overdoing them.” He sighs, rolling his eyes, “I’m supporting you by stopping you cross that line.” She just scowls at that and mutters darkly about how lost she would be without him. He lightly prods her side to make her behave, “C’mon, Jules, you know I only want what’s best for you, right?”

Sobering up a little bit at the genuine concern she can detect in his voice she nods and says softly, “I know, Mike.”She pauses a minute then, “I just feel so useless, not being able to do any of this, it’s, it’s-“

“I know.” He says quickly, reaching over and giving her arm a little squeeze, “I know it’s frustrating but you’re doing really well.”She snorts hopelessly, shaking her head and he says, “Hey. You are. Just persevere a little bit longer okay?”

Once she’s finished her next set, he firmly confiscates the weights and swaps them for a bottle of water and an chocolate bar he’s smuggled in for, which she smiles at and accepts, sitting down on the mat and munching through it, informing him through a thick bite that he can come and assist her every day if he keeps bringing her twixes.

“Oh, so it’s not my handsome face and sparkling with you want?” He grumbles in mock offence, “You just want to use me for my chocolate?”

Smirking boldly she nods through her next mouthful of chocolate and nearly chokes on it at the expression on his face. Once she’s finished with her impromptu break, they stand her up again and lead her over to the long, grounded railings at the right height for her to grip and support herself with her arms while she builds up the muscles in her legs again.

She starts at the end other end of the room and he waits at the distant end of the rails. “I feel like a dog on an agility course.” She calls grumpily to him.

He laughs slightly at that, smirks and tosses back, “Well in that case if you make it all the way to the other end maybe I’ll give a treat.”Grimly, she sets herself on the bars opposite him and darkly mutters something about causing him intense physical pain when she gets to the other end, that’d be a _real_ treat.

He isn’t sure whether to feel proud of her or pained and furious as he watches her carefully struggle towards him. Her nurse encourages her, telling her she’s doing well, that this is the best she’s ever done but he just remembers days spent out in the sun up in Seattle watching her bouncing back and forth on the tennis courts like a little live firework, darting this way and that. Now she’s shakily struggling just to walk towards him and he feels like he understands for the first time the depth of her fury and frustration.

He had gone through something similar after he’d been shot but it was nothing like this, the months she had lain in that coma struggling to find her way back to them had taken a more serious and devastating toll on her body than he had really realised. He had just been so happy that she was awake, that she could really start to get better, he hadn’t considered how impossible that must seem to her.

None of this is something he wants to voice to her at the moment however, or at all for that matter. So he forces a smile onto his face and watches her hobble slowly towards him, his smile broadening as she starts getting closer and closer to him. As she reaches the edge of the rails, she throws caution to the winds and takes another few steps towards him, unsupported, ending when she slips on the floor and is only spared from clattering down onto it because he hastily darts forwards and catches her before she can.

“Careful.” He growls gently, lifting her back up and holding her close to him to support her as she scrabbles to find her feet, “You’re going to get me thrown out.” He warns her as she grabs at his shoulders, trying to right herself again, panting hard but looking pleased with herself and he can’t stop himself smiling either at the look on her face.

“I want to go again.” She announces breathlessly to him, but her trainer, who’s just wandered over to join them shakes her head and he agrees,

“Let’s not overdo things, hm?” He murmurs quietly and such a mutinous expression flickers across her face that he’s forced to take drastic action. Crouching down slightly, he slides his hands securely under her then scoops her easily up into his arms, cuddling her in close to him, peering down at her as she squeals in protest and squirms feebly.

“Put me _down_ , Mike.” She growls threateningly at him.

“Sure.” He replies agreeably, wandering back towards the door and making to set her down in her wheelchair again but she squirms even more violently at that, forcing him to stop, worried he’s going to drop and hurt her.

“No, not in that _thing_.” She scowls, glaring venomously at it as though it’s done her a great personal wrong in the past. “I can walk back to my room, it’s not far.” He squints down her in evident disbelief and disapproval and she tuts impatiently, amending to keep him happy, “If you help me.”

Glancing up, he catches her trainer’s eye who gives him a short, sharp nod at which point he very carefully lowers her back down onto the ground, waiting until she has her feet under her, then he slides a strong arm around her waist, anchoring her to him and taking most of her weight, still practically carrying her.

Carefully, making sure they take things slowly, constantly on the alert and ready to catch her and lift her back into his arms if she should stumble or show any signs of flagging but she seems to have found a new sense of determination from somewhere and, clinging tightly to him for support, she makes it all the way back to her room where he lets her help into bed before sinking down onto it beside her once she’s settled herself.

She’s panting slightly, her face shining faintly with sweat from the effort her recent session and the walk back has cost her but she’s smiling too and she looks proud and pleased with herself as well. “I’ve never gotten all the way to the end before.” She tells him happily, nestling back into her pillows as though they’re a throne and she’s announcing her success in world domination.

He beams at her and stretches out, fondly and absently stroking her cheek with his hand and smiling gently up at her, “You did good, Jules.” He murmurs quietly, leaning in and softly kissing the side of her head he whispers quietly, “I’m so proud of you. You’re going to get there, you’re going to be okay.” He promises her quietly, “And you know that I’m here for you. Whatever happens, whatever you need? You know that right?”

Shifting a little closer to him, she nestles in against him, her head on his chest, reaching down until she finds his hand then holding it gently between her own, nodding and murmuring softly into his shirt, “Yeah ,I know you are, Mike.”

****

 


	13. Caged Firework

_ Part 13 –Caged Fireworks  _

Glancing away from the screen and over towards her, he feels a smile spread across her face as she cheers exuberantly again and then starts hurling ever more inventive curses at the screen in response to what she’s watching, making his lips tug into an reluctant but inevitable smile, shaking his head slightly and adjusting his position slightly on his chair beside her.

In hindsight, bringing her in a tablet stocked with all of the Seahawks  games that she had missed while she had been in her coma might not have been the best idea he’s ever had. It’s certainly not that most relaxing thought he’s ever had. Somehow he had managed to forget how worked up she got over these things, and she was almost certainly worked up now.

The most he could do was sit there and pray that none of her doctors came in to chide him and bar him from visiting her anymore because he was riling their patient up so much. He can’t help himself smiling at her obvious jubilation though. He hasn’t seen her this happy and this upbeat in a long time and that’s worth any scolding he might get from her nurses.

Having seen all of the matches she’s currently watching already, he finds his mind drifting somewhat, back to games that he had watched play years and years ago. A shared love for football, and specifically the Seahawks had been one of the things that had connected them all those years ago when they were just starting out, and it had followed them through the realms of dating, engagement and marriage; and it seemed that it outlived them as well.

Football season, and football day had quickly come to have its own ritual over them. They would make sure that they could watch it together somehow, even if that meant watching in two different places but calling each other for the duration. Their favourite way of watching however was curled up on the couch together, with her invariably commandeering his giant Seahawks hoodie which utterly drowned her, the sleeves rolled up past the elbows to give her the use of her hands and giving her ample fabric to bury her face in in exasperation whenever someone fumbled an easy pass or missed an easy shot.

Debate railed between them from the first whistle blow. They both had different favourite players that they championed, different line-ups that they supported, different stats that they focused more of their attention on. But that had just added to it all. It was all good-natured and it had made everything so much more interesting than if they’d just agreed on everything.

Smiling fondly as he watches her anxiously bite her nails waiting to see what’s going to happen, he remembers one of the first dates the two of them had gone on. They had had a few of the typical ones, getting all dressed up, heading out to a fancy restaurant and then wandering amiably along the waterfront afterwards and those had been nice, without a doubt, but the first time he had really felt a real and firm connection and affinity with her had been that football game that he had taken her to.

It had been there he had acquired his Seahawks hoodie, which had very quickly become _her_ Seahawks hoodie in the coming weeks, which he hadn’t protested very much. The day had been a little chillier than usual so the two of them had been bundled up going there but a part of him had preferred that to the sleek dresses in a way, he had been much more relaxed around her on that date, much more himself and she had been as excitable as a caged firework, practically pinging off the walls when he went to pick her up and hitting the ceiling as it was time for them to go.

She had prattled non-stop in the car, chattering away on and on about this and that and the other thing and wondering what everything was going to be like to the point that he realised she had never actually been to see a game before, which had of course changed everything since from that point onwards he had gone out of his way to ensure that she experienced everything to the full.

This didn’t seem to be something that she had any issue with whatsoever. He quickly discovered that she had little to no reservations, inhibitions or filters when she was excited as she was that day. He had found himself falling for her more surely that day, watching her hop up and down on top of her seat in completely undisguised fury at the injustice of the calls the referee was making and the idiotic changes to the line-up they kept insisting on, and then when she had pulled him into a strangling hug which had made him laugh when their team had won. She had kissed him too, he remembered, her little face shining with excitement, still standing up on her seat so for once she had to lean down to him, though not much.

She had been so happy that day, so excited, so free and comfortable with him. They had walked out of the stadium holding hands and she had been unstoppable all the way home and all through the take out they treated themselves to for dinner. She had taken great delight in going ever every single second of the match one at a time, agonising over certain plays and analysing this decision and that decision and after they had tumbled into bed together she had settled down on top of him and thanked him for sharing that with her.

The memory of that still brings a smile to his lips and he finds a great rush of affection for her course through his system as he watches her happily bouncing up and down on the bed in excitement, reaching out and grabbing wildly at his hand, squeezing it between her own, squealing in nervous anticipation as she watches another, critical shot being lined up. His arm is raised in celebration when it finds its mark along with her own and he finds himself chuckling at her again.

“Simmer down, Jules, you’re going to get me chucked out of here.” He cautions, the stern effect utterly ruined by the fact he’s still smiling broadly at her antics.

“You’re a Police Captain.” She reminds him dismissively, as though this is somehow a valid answer to his concerns, “They’re not going to kick you out.”

“I’m a Police Captain in _Seattle_.” He points out, “And I don’t think that’s really the way it works here.”

“Of course it does.” She tells him easily, waving an airy hand and reaching over to snatch up the chocolate bar he’s brought for her and take another bite out of it, free to do so now that they’ve hit the relative safety of half time and she doesn’t have anything more important to take up her attention. “You just wave your badge around and make some threats in a low, growling voice, they’ll do whatever you want.”

He laughs at that, shaking his head, “That’s _definitely_ not the way it works.”

She scoffs, shaking her head in apparent disgust, “You have no imagination, Mike.” She snorts at him, absently handing him a piece of her chocolate .

Rolling his eyes he sighs and says, “So you think if I wave my badge around I can get your doctors to do whatever I want them to?”

“Let’s try it.” She suggest brightly, sitting up a little straighter and blinking down at him, “You tell the next doctor that comes in here that you need me to be discharged immediately. For police business. Let’s see what they do.”

He smiles again, but this time much more sympathetically. He’s gotten three or four texts from her in the last week alone begging similar favours from him, demanding that he come and make them release her and discharge her, that she feels fine and that she doesn’t need to stay here anymore, that she wants to go home, go back into the world, remember what fresh air tastes like, and more importantly what freedom tastes like.

“You’ll be out of here soon.” He promises her quietly, reaching up and squeezing her hand, smiling warmly up at her. She grimaces faintly and shrugs in a noncommittal way, not looking happy or convinced. Struck by a sudden inspiration, he grips her hand a little more tightly then says quietly, “Hey, we could go and see a game, if you like? Once you’re out and feeling better?”

That perks her up a little bit and she smiles a little, “Yeah.” She says, softly squeezing her hand back, meeting his eyes and nodding, “Yeah, I’d, I’d like that.”

He nods, “Well then, it’s decided.” He says firmly, nodding towards her tablet he says, “Though you have to finish this game first, you’re going to miss it.”

With a sudden squeak she hastily turns her attention back to the tablet propped up on her knee and he leans over to be able to watch as well, pointing out a few things, explaining some of the newer players to her and once again launching into the debate as to why the new line-up is a good idea against this opposing team and her stoutly insisting that he doesn’t have a leg to stand on since that one match he tried to predict and was almost as bad as the team was.

The bickering is comfortable and warm and friendly, familiar and almost endearing because of that and it only comes to a, partial, halt when her nurse comes in to scoop her up and take her off to her afternoon physio session, which he goes to as well, walking along at her side as she hobbles unassisted up the corridor, walking as close to her as he can in case she stumbles and he needs to catch her but though she walks a little slower than usual, she’s more steady than he’s ever seen her and much less out of breath, which enables her to continue schooling him in how completely wrong he is about his choice of favourite player this season.

“You’ve only seen three games. Actually, two and a half.” He reminds her, smiling in amusement, shoving his hands into his pockets as they wander along the hall together.

“And that’s still been enough to see that you’re as wrong as ever.” She shoots back, grinning up at him, which causes her to slip and his hand immediately darts out and keeps her on her feet and still walking beside him.

He chuckles in response to her fierce assertions and shepherds her into her physiotherapy class, shaking his head slightly but smiling fondly down at her as his hand nudges gently at the small of her back, chivvying her forwards, something fluttering in his stomach when she meets his eyes again.

****

 


	14. Simple Pleasures

_ Part 14 –Simple Pleasures _

Carefully, he eases her hand into the arm of the sweatshirt he’d brought for her and helps her put it on then turns back to her now empty and freshly made bed to finish packing her final few things into her bag and double checking what he’s already put in it to make absolutely sure that they’ve got everything, knowing that neither of them are going to want to make any return visits to this hospital for as long as they live.

Swinging the bag onto his shoulder he turns and presses the stuffed bear he’d bought her months ago into her arms with a light grin that falters when he catches sight of her expression and the look that she’s giving him, even as she accepts the bear from him, hugging it in tight against her chest.

“What?” He asks, reaching out and placing a steadying hand on her shoulder, “What is it? What’s wrong? Do you feel dizzy? Or sick? Should I call a nurse?” He demands, peering at her in concern, suddenly noting that she does look a little pale.

“No.” She says quickly, shaking her head and lightly gripping his hand, “No I feel fine, Mike. Really.” She adds, seeming to catch the look in his eyes that suggests he’s not convinced of that, “I just...”She pauses, swallows and then, “Are you sure about this?” She blurts and he sighs, dropping his hand from her, “I know what you said.” She plunges on, refusing to take his evident irritability at the topic as any sort of reason to change it, “But are you _sure_? Are you completely sure that you want to do this?”

“Yes.” He answers bluntly and firmly, giving her no room to mistake him whatsoever, “We talked about this Jules, the last time I was here, we agreed that this was something that suited both of us.” She opens her mouth to protest further but he heads her off, saying flatly, “I’ve got the time booked off of work. And your doctors say that you should have someone with you for a couple of weeks to keep an eye on you, you’re still in recovery and you might need help with some things, help I am happy to provide for you.”

“I know that, but living with me again is a big step up from a couple of hospital visits” She says imploringly, “And I’m not trying to play down what you’ve done for me already but that’s my point. You’ve done so much and we’re not together anymore, you don’t have any obligation to do this, you don’t have to, I can get someone else I-“

“Do you not want me to do this?” he asks, suddenly struck by this thought, “Is the thought of me living in the same place as you again does it...Does it make you uncomfortable or-?”

“No!” She says, looking horrified that he could think that, “No,” She repeats, reaching out and squeezing his hand between her own, “I just meant that...For you, it’s...Well...” She trails off hopelessly but he seamlessly picks up the thread of what he thinks she was trying to say.

“I know.” He murmurs softly, smiling down at her, “I know it’s a little weird and a little...”He pauses, trying to find the right word then settles, “ _Unconventional,_ given our history together but I want to be there with you just now and, and help.” The smile he bestows on her now is wry, “The last couple of months have been hard, seeing you in here and not really been able to feel like I’m doing anything to make it better. But I can do something for you now so just...Let me?”

Jostling lightly against him she mutters, “You’re too nice for your own good, Mike. Your guys are going to have a field day with you when you come back and try and explain to them that you’ve been babysitting your ex-wife for a month instead of sitting on a beach somewhere sipping cocktails.” She pauses then adds in a low, patronising voice, “That’s usually what normal people do when they take a holiday you know.”

His breath huffs out of him in a faint laugh at that and he shakes his head, “Let me worry about my reputation, you just worry about-“

“I know, I know.” She sighs, rolling her eyes dramatically to the ceiling and saying it with him, “’You just worry about getting better, Jules.’ You should record yourself saying that, it would save you a lot of breath.” She informs him matter-of-factly, smiling innocently up at him as though it’s a genuine concern and suggestion.

Glowering good naturedly at her, he prods her lightly between the shoulder blades and nudges her out of the room in front of him, “C’mon, let’s get you out of here before you can cause any more trouble.”

“Yes, sir.” She giggles at him, looking over his shoulder and flashing him a quick grin.

“ _Captain_.”He reminds her pointedly, also smiling as he marches her proudly down the corridor.

“Yes, _Captain._ ” She corrects herself, over-enunciating the last word so much that it could never be taken as anything other than mocking but he just shakes his head and smiles at her.

It’s good to see her so upbeat and full of her life, looking and sounding so much more like herself than he can remember seeing her in a long while. Frustration has been the order of the day for his last few visits. She was tired of physio, tired of her doctors, tired of her nurses, tired of her meds, tired of her hospital room, tired of being still largely bed-bound. She wanted to escape, she wanted to go home, she wanted her freedom and her independence back and now that they’d been largely returned to her, she couldn’t help but revel in it.

 Her happiness was infectious and he can’t stop himself from smiling at her antics, even though he has to keep tugging her back and slowing her every few steps and all but frog-marching her into the nearest lift instead of letting her bound down twenty flights of stairs and landing herself right back where she had started again.

She’s made enormous improvement in her physio in the last few weeks, which has been obvious to anyone with eyes, but her nurses had had a few quiet, stern words with him, and he could see for himself that she still wasn’t exactly back to normal. She still has weekly sessions scheduled and until then, he’s been given, the almost impossible task, of stopping her from over-exerting herself in the next few months, to keep making her take things a little more slowly than she normally would and help her with more taxing activities.

He had promised that he would do his best while she had stared pointedly out of the window and pretended not to hear her instructor’s warnings, already dreaming of home and of having her life back. A part of her couldn’t blame him for readily lapping up the limitations they wanted to put on that but she had always had an issue with taking small baby steps when the thing could conceivably be done in one giant leap of faith.

There’s an air of nervous excitement surrounding her as she watches the numbers steadily tick downwards as the lift descends towards the reception below and he realises, at almost the same time she does, that this is the furthest she’s been from her room since she was moved there out of the ICU and he can’t blame her for any of it, smiling fondly to see her so happy and excited again, and proud to think of how far she’s managed to come in a relatively short space of time.

They make a short stop at the reception desk to sign her discharge papers. He notices that her hand shakes slightly as she scrawls down her usual, messy signature, after pausing in a moment’s hesitation, but he thinks that’s more from anticipation of what follows than anything else. Fortunately, and contrary to her terror, the tremors in her hands had drastically improved as she had built up her muscle strength and control again in her physiotherapy sessions.

With that done and dusted, he picks up her bags again and the two of them walk side by side out of the hospital and out into the hot afternoon air of Vegas. He keeps walking towards the side of the road, heading for the car park where he took the liberty of driving her car to pick her up and use while he’s here for a longer stay, feeling thoroughly sick of cabs by this point, but he’s only gone a few paces when he realises that she hasn’t kept pace beside him and as stopped only a few steps away from the hospital she was apparently so desperate to leave.

Turning round, brow furrowed, he walks a little ways back to her then says, “Jules, what are you doing?”

 Her eyes are closed and she seems to be breathing in deeply and takes a few more deep breaths before she answers, eyes fluttering open again, I’m remember what air that isn’t heavily flavoured with clinical bleach smells and tastes like.”

He chuckles lightly at that then gently shepherds her off towards the car park, which seems to confuse her for a moment until her pride and joy comes into view, “You _stole_ Lola?” She demands, rounding on him.

“I didn’t _steal_ her.” He grumbles at her, digging in his pockets for a moment then, “See? I have the keys.” She glowers at him and makes a snatch for them but he quickly tugs them out of reach, widening his eyes significantly at her, “You are still on industrial strength painkillers. You’re not allowed to drive while they’re in your system, remember?”

She still looks dangerously mutinous and as though she’s in half a mind to try and wrestles the keys out of his hand, fragile and feeble and four foot tall though she may be. Finally, he just shakes his head and laughs, “Get in the car.” He tells her, still laughing lightly, ruining the stern effect he was going for.

“And if I don’t?” She demands, widening her eyes, though she’s already taking steps towards it.

“You need me to threaten you with cuffs again?” He tosses back at her and he sees the razor sharp little smirk that lights up her face, telling him she got the intended reference back to their memorable reunion along the Seattle waterfront where he had pulled her over.

“No, _Captain_.” She says, placing an insolent emphasis on the last word as she pulls the door open and sinks down into the passenger seat of her beloved car, looking at it with such wonder and reverence that he reacts with huffy mock offence as he settles himself in the driver’s seat beside her.

“I’m hurt, Jules, this damn car got a better welcome than I did.” He informs him grumpily, pulling on his seatbelt and sticking the keys in the ignition, fumbling with them slightly because he’s not looking at what he’s doing, his attention focused on her instead, waiting for a reaction, which is predictably flippant when it comes as she makes to hug the dashboard.

“Lola never divorced me, Mike.” She informs him in superior tones, her head resting on the car in front of her, embracing it and smirking up at him with her head tilted to the side so she can still peer up at him.

“Yeah, but is Lola going to make you scrambled eggs for breakfast tomorrow morning just the way you like them?” he demands, raising his eyebrows as he puts an arm behind her seat, looking over his shoulder as he reverses out of the car park and onto the road.

She considers this very seriously for a few moments then seems to decide that maybe he does have a few merits her car might not and settles back in her seat, her eyes closed, her head tilted back towards the sun that’s flooding down onto her with the top down looking as though she’s never been happier in all her life.

It takes quite a while before she starts blinking at the road he’s driving, frowning then she says slowly, “Mike.” HE glances towards her for a moment, tilting his head up to show he’s listening, “This isn’t the way home, are you lost?”

He snorts at that, “I’ve travelled to that hospital and back to your place more times than I care to count Jules, no I’m not lost.”

“Then where are we going?” She asks, sitting up a little straighter, then,  her frown deepening, she glares at him and growls threateningly, “I told you that I wanted to go home, I said I didn’t want to go to a hotel or-“

“And I’m not taking you to one.” He heads her off quickly, “Would you just have a little more faith in me please?” He says flatly, “We’re going somewhere I think you’ll like. I thought you could use a treat your first day out, that’s all.”

“Oh.” She considers that, then another little flash of worry flits across her face, “You haven’t called the whole team to this...Whatever it is have you?” She asks him.

He shakes his head, “No, I didn’t think you’d want everyone fussing around you today, it’s just the two of us.” He pauses a moment, glancing down at her, suddenly wondering if he was wrong in that, “I can call them if you want though, get them to meet us.”

“No.” She says quickly, offering him a little smile, “No, you were right, I’m not ready for a big fuss with all of them yet. Just us sounds great...Wherever it is you’re taking me.”

He smiles, his eyes twinkling but refuses to give that away, “Trust me okay?” After a moment’s hesitation, she nods, and settles herself back in her seat, watching the scenery drift by as he drives purposefully towards whatever unknown destination he has in mind for them.

Her soft cry of delight as he finally pulls in to a favourite diner she had mentioned in passing once a few visits ago makes him smile and she bounds happily out of the car and offers him a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek in gratitude before they make their way inside. 

They settle themselves in one of the booths by the window so she can watch the world go by while waiting for their orders. When they’re presented with menus, she peers critically down hers, biting her lip with an expression that she suggests she wants one of everything, and would eat it as well.

In the end, she settles for the largest stack of pancakes they offer, to which the waiter raises an eyebrow, no doubt considering the size of her and thinking that said order of pancakes would probably weigh more than she does. Mike, long since used to her amazing ability to pack inordinate amounts of food into her tiny form, doesn’t bat an eyelid at her order before placing his own.

Their drinks arrive first and she squints over the milkshake she happily starts slurping up as soon as it’s placed in front of her and he smiles as he sips at his coffee. With a wicked little smirk, she says, “I don’t think my doctors would approve of this, Mike, you’re being a very irresponsible babysitter.”

He scowls, “Are you complaining?” He demands of her.

“Not in the slightest.” She smirks happily. 

“And do you mind not calling me your ‘babysitter’?” He grumbles as an afterthought.

She widens her eyes innocently at him over her milkshake, which she’s just taken another big swallow of, “Well what would you prefer?” She pulls a face before her next sardonic suggestion to leave him in no doubt as to what she thinks about it, “My _carer_?”

Grimacing as well and understanding her distaste for that term he shakes his head and struggles for a better alternative, finally blurting out “How about just a friend doing you a favour?”

There’s a rather pregnant, charged pause where their eyes meet for a moment and he knows she’s wondering the same thing he is, whether that can really sum up who they are or what they’ve been through, if it’s enough or if it’s somehow too much for their relationship as it stands.

 Finally however, after dunking her straw in her drink and mixing it around a little more, she gives him a curt nod and says with an air of finality, “I can live with that.”

Fortunately, a moment later her monster stack of pancakes is placed in front of her and that suitably distracts her from everything else in the known universe for a few moments as her eyes widen delightedly as she takes in her prize.

He settles back, taking considerably more time over his food than she is as he watches her happily wolf down her food and conversation gradually resumes between hungry mouthfuls, softening and relaxing once more until they’re both smiling and laughing and chattering easily away to one another again.

As predicted at the outset of this meal, she settles back only after the sizable stack of food in front of her has all been, somehow, packed into her stomach and she settles back in her booth, looking a little dopey and sleepy now that she’s so full and he chuckles lightly at her and suggests sitting for a bit longer to let things settle to which she nods contentedly, mumbling that he’s an excellent friend to arrange this for her coming home.

He smiles as he takes another slow sip of his coffee, “How are you feeling?” he asks her quietly.

“Full.” She giggles childishly at him.

“You know what I mean.” He says, a soft smile tugging at his lips all the same, “You’re still alright? No pain? No dizziness? No nausea?” He checks with her, trying to peer into her eyes which becomes difficult as she rolls them expansively towards the ceiling.

“I’m fine, Mike.” She informs him flatly, “Shockingly I didn’t crumble into a million little bits the second you took me out of the hospital.” She tells him, gesturing up and down her body as she says, “See, still definitely in one piece.”

“Hm, let’s keep it that way.” He tells her, refusing to relent in his concern for her but she just scowls and shakes her head at him.

“You worry too much.” She tells him, but her tone is surprisingly soft and warm and there’s an almost fond look in her eyes as she leans back in her chair, never letting her gaze leave his.

“Yeah, well, you don’t worry enough so we balance out don’t we?” He says evenly, his tone mirroring hers and keeping things light.

A moment later, she’s sat back up again and reached out, working her fingers between his hand and the table and prising it up so she can hold it in hers, “I know why you’re concerned about me.” She murmurs and her voice is low and gentle, “And I understand, Mike. But I am okay.” She breathes earnestly, adding firmly with a little squeeze of his hand, “I promise.”

Smiling softly, he squeezes her hand back then takes a deep breath and says, “You ready to head home?”

He studies her carefully, waiting for a reaction, looking for the slightest hint that might betray her true feelings, still not entirely sure if this is a good idea, going back to the place where she was attacked, a place that must hold nothing but twisted, dark, terrifying memories for her, but she had seemed so certain about it in the hospital when he had tentatively brought it up in the days leading to her discharge and her conviction on the matter doesn’t seem to have wavered at all.

 Drawing herself up, and seeming to steel herself a little, she meets his eyes then nods, “Yeah. Yeah, let’s go.”

****

 


	15. Castle

_ Part 15 –Castle _

As they set off from the diner and head towards her condo in the centre of town, he talks away to her, trying to keep her mind on other things, knowing that it’s drifting back to the attack, to the last time she was in this condo, even though she can barely remember any of it, she knows what happened there and he can tell it’s playing on her mind as she becomes increasingly quieter as they drive and he gets stuck with the feeling that he’s talking more at her than to her.

He isn’t sure how to address what she’s going through right now. He knows what’s wrong with her, what she’s thinking about and he could think of half a dozen empty, hollow phrases to try and put her at ease but he isn’t sure if she wants to hear them, if she wants him to draw attention to what she’s going through or if that will just make everything worse.

She sits stock still beside him, staring out of the window beside her, watching the roads slip past as they get closer and closer and there’s a rigid cast to her outline. His gut instinct is to reach out to her, to talk to her, to touch her, to try and offer her any small bit of comfort that he might be able to muster up but he bites his tongue for as long as he can until they’re only ten or so minutes out.

Then he reaches over and gives her hand a very gentle squeeze that makes her turn her head away from the window at last and actually look at him. He can see the fear in her eyes, even as she tries to hide it from him but he knows her far too well for that. She gives his hand a soft little squeeze back and he takes that as acceptance and decides to press on with what he wants to say to her.

“I’ve had your apartment professionally cleaned out.” He says, he’s told her this before but he wants to remind her of it again, “It’s exactly back to the way it was, you shouldn’t notice any difference.” She nods stiffly but doesn’t speak and he drops his voice, making it lower and softer than it was before as he says quietly, “But we don’t have to do this, or you don’t have to do this, at least not right away.” He tells her, “We could book into a hotel nearby for a few nights.” He suggests, gesturing around at the almost ludicrous variety of said hotels around them, “We could stay there for a little bit and ease you in more gently-“

“No.” She says, so sharply and suddenly that it makes him jump slightly. She seems to have noticed this because she glances apologetically in his direction then says more softly, “No, Mike, thank you but,” She pauses a moment, trying to decide how best to phrase this then she says with as much finality in her tone as she can muster, “I want to go home.”

That doesn’t seem like enough, she feels as though she should try and explain it more, explain how she’s been wanting this for weeks, for months now. Shut up in that hospital room with unfamiliar nurses drifting in and out with no freedom or independence whatsoever, all she’s wanted is to return to something that’s hers, somewhere familiar, somewhere she has complete control over everything, how she isn’t going to let anything stop her going back to her place. But she doesn’t seem to need to.

His eyes are still studying her with that sharp intensity she’s come to associate just with him and after a short pause he just nods and gives her hand another gentle, reassuring squeeze then says simply, “Okay.”

He seems to understand without needing her explanation why she wants to do this, why she _needs_ to do this and makes it clear that he isn’t going to protest or try and change her mind. The decision is hers and he respects that and she could half fall in love with him all over again just for that.

Somehow, knowing that and having him here calms her down a little. She’s less scared of the fact that her condo was the place she was attacked, the place where she lost so much of her life, between the coma and her recovery in hospital afterwards. It’s more that she has no idea how she’s going to react when she first walks into it and what it might inspire in her, that unknown frightens her more than anything else.

It had taken her a while to get the full story out of Russell who had seemed, understandably, very reluctant to discuss what had happened to her but once he had realised that she had no memory of the attack whatsoever and needed to know how she had ended up here he had softened and opened up and tried to explain to her as best he could, in fits and starts teasing more details out of him every time he came to see her until she had a full picture of what had been done to her.

She still thinks Russell edited a little to spare her, and seemed constantly worried about triggering some upsetting flashback or other as he told her and had refused to give her all of the details in one go but she knows the facts now. That’s different to really knowing and remembering and _feeling_ what had happened though and she knows it. And that’s what’s scaring her now, the thought that she’s going to walk through the door and it’s all going to hit her like a freight train and suddenly all of the things she’s been wanting to know for months will be the one thing she’s desperate to forget.

Still, she has to go home at some point, she’s not letting any of that stop her, and she has Mike with her, that adds a little bit of reassurance and comfort to things and she closes her eyes, taking deep, slow breaths to try and settle herself further as they pull into the car park at the bottom of her apartment building.

They get out of the car and he swings her bag onto his back before falling into step beside her. He stays close to her side the whole time as they climb the stairs up to her apartment, taking them much more slowly than she’s capable of now, he’s sure, but he doesn’t protest at that, nor when she has a small pause for a breather on the landing before the last flight that leads up to her place, willing to give her all the time she needs until she’s ready.

Finally, with an air of, what he recognises from experience, to be feigned defiance, she takes a deep breath, draws herself up and faces the next set of stairs like she means to physically attack them, which somehow he feels she would prefer to wrestling with whatever inner demons are causing her so much turmoil.

They reach her door at last and she stares at it with a strange expression on her face. She had found herself counting doors along the corridor, checking the numbers when before she would just have slouched up the stairs and turned in at the right place on instinct. Trying not to over think things, already feeling herself a little bit unsteady without adding to it, she starts rummaging around in the little handbag she has slung over her shoulder until she finally manages to extract her keys.

The first few attempts she has at placing them in the lock only succeed in scraping the metal around it because her hands are shaking so much. Stepping in close behind her he gently covers her small, trembling hand with his larger, steadier one and helps guide the key into place and turn it.

The door falls open an inch and she leaves it hanging there, steeling herself, her hands clenching into fists around her keys then she pushes the door open and steps into her condo, with him walking right behind her, watching her like a hawk.

The apartment inside is exactly as Mike had promised her, just the way she remembers it, nothing out of place, no evidence that might betray to her what happened there, everything is as it should be. But it’s not the look of the place that triggers her, it’s the sudden smell that hits her nostrils, something that nothing could have captured for her until she set foot here, what used to be the smell of home now wakens something else in her.

It only lasts a second. One violent beat of her heart later and it’s over. But it was so vivid and so unexpected that it sends panic lancing through her like a lightning bolt, crackling along her nerves and making her forget where she is and who she is and what’s happening.

In that one moment, the room around her vanished, the sunlight filtering through the windows was replaced by a darker, rain streaked sky. A coarse yell of triumph sounds in her ears along with a rough smashing sound that seems to come from nowhere but explodes so loudly into being it sounds like a shotgun being fired off against her ear. Pain flashes through her from a wound that healed months ago. Terror flares inside her like wildfire rearing up to consume everything it touches in an instant and every defence she had put in place, every steely thought, every steadied nerve, every insistence to herself that it would be alright crumbles at once in the face of its onslaught.

She doesn’t know where she is. She doesn’t know what to do. Just as she’s started to cry out for help it all disappears and she remembers where she is. Sunlight pours through the expansive, unguarded windows opposite her. The room is pleasantly warm and bright. The only danger is in her head. But she doesn’t know how to fight that. She doesn’t know how to hurt that. She doesn’t know how to kill shadows that only live inside her mind.

She had stood stock still for a moment, frozen in one place, only a few steps inside the door and he had watched as she had begun to shake worse than ever. He had hesitated, sliding her bag to the crook of his arm, ready to shrug it off and go to her but hesitating, not sure if he wants to run to her yet or if that will just make it worse and startle her more than she already is. Then she screams, a short, sharp sound filled with so much uncharacteristic fear and panic that he can’t help himself.

The bag hits the floor with a solid thump and he hurries forwards, moving around so that he’s standing directly in front of her, his arms outstretched but not touching her, not yet, knowing that that may well make things much worse for her.

He calls her name loudly a few times but whatever happened seems already to have passed. He can still see the ghost of fear in her eyes but when she trips and stumbles forwards into his arms, breathing hard and fast, he realises that she’s not still going through it, just trying to recover from the aftermath and he wraps his arms softly around her, rubbing her back and trying to calm her down as her breathing turns ragged and her shoulders heave desperately against him.

Being wrapped in the soft, dark, warm embrace of his arms, buried with her head against his chest is the most soothing thing she can think of at the moment. But even so her heart bangs so loudly against her ribs, the blood seeming to thunder against her ears that she expects it to be painful. She can’t quite seem to catch her breath, every time she tries to inhale it’s as though her lungs can no longer take in any oxygen and every breath just seems to leave her feeling more and more choked, as though she’s drowning and every time she tries to gulp down air, she only succeeds in drawing water down into her lungs until her chest is burning so bad she fears it’s on fire. And she can’t stop shaking violently and uncontrollably in his arms, as though she’s standing naked in a snow storm feeling hypothermia set in. But she’s not, she’s not, she’s not.

Fortunately, it all passes in a few minutes, in which Mike patiently cradles her to him, constantly rubbing her back in wide, soothing circular motions, murmuring incoherent words of comfort to her, trying to get her to calm down. Once she does, she stands limply in his arms, panting and still trembling, her hand clutched tightly around his arm, not wanting to let go just yet.

Finally, after a long time, she carefully disentangles herself from his embrace and looks around the room, wary of something else triggering her, but that faint, disembodied memory seems to be the only one that feels like assaulting her right now and after a few more minutes, she manages to calm down completely, staring around and feeling a little calmer and a little more at home now that she’s settled out a little bit.

Mike however still looks a little paler than usual, and concerned as he says in a low, gentle voice, “If you want to leave for now, go somewhere else-“

“No.” She says quickly, reaching out and finding his hand and squeezing it between her own, “No, I’m, I’m okay, I’ll be okay.” She draws herself up, taking a deep breath and asserting stoutly, “This is my home. My place. I’m not letting _him_ force me out of it.”

There’s so much stubborn defiance on her face and in her voice and it’s so achingly familiar to him that he can’t help but smile quietly at her, though he’s still a little worried about her and about this decision but he knows it has to be one that she makes, and if she wants to stay here he’s not going to attempt to force her out either. 

He gives her shoulder a soft little squeeze then retreats back towards the door where he had dumped her bag in his haste to get to her, picks it up again then leads her quietly into the bedroom and helps her unpack it all and put it away in the right places, more often than not wandering innocently towards a certain set of drawers and having her stomp over to him and relieve him of the picture or ornament then march off to put it in its proper place. After three or four instances of this, he just sticks to putting her clothes away in the relevant drawers which seems safer.

Once he’s sorted through his pile, he looks up at her, she’s finished except for the leather-bound albums she’s holding in her hands and examining, brow slightly furrowed, “Where did you find these?” She asks wonderingly, turning them over to look at the slightly fading years stamped on the front.

“Oh.” He smiles slightly and steps over to her, “I uh, I found them in the bottom of some of the boxes in your wardrobe, while I was looking for books to bring to the hospital for you, I thought you might like to look through them there are some...Some interesting memories in there.”

Glancing at him briefly, she moves the bag onto the floor by the bed, picks up the albums and moves back into the living room where she settles down onto the couch and, after a brief hesitation, he joins her on, settling down beside her and peering over her shoulder as she flips open the album at the top of the pile, which happens to be the same one he had chanced to open all those months ago, containing the pictures of the two of them on the beach and then, further in, their wedding photos.

She pauses once she reaches those, freezing in place and letting her hands run softly over the pictures tucked up safely in the albums pages.  A strange, half-sad, half-happy little smile brushes across her lips as she looks down at them. They look so happy, to united. She had almost forgotten how good their relationship was at its height. The bad that had happened towards the end had a tendency to blot out and taint everything that went before it but seeing these now she remembers, remembers how happy she was with him, how happy he had made her.

When they had gotten married, she had been sure that this was it, they were going to grow old together, they were going to be with each other for the rest of their lives, she had found the person she was supposed to be with. Getting over the breakdown of her marriage to him, getting over _him_ had been so hard afterwards and it had put her off of the idea of having a long and lasting relationship with anyone. If they couldn’t work out after everything they had been through, everything they had survived, everything they had gotten each other through then what was the point?

He seems to know what she’s thinking, seems to have thought it all before himself and that understanding that springs up between them makes her smile a little more broadly. Despite the divorce and the break-up, he still knows her better than almost anyone else and still cares about her so deeply, she knows that.

Swallowing hard and tracing her fingers lightly over the picture that shows them sharing their first kiss after being married, in which she can still see the smile on both of their lips, even as they meet, she says quietly, “We were so happy then.” Pausing, she goes on, without really thinking, the words just spilling out all in a rush, “I loved you so much.”

“Yeah.” His voice is a little hoarse when he speaks again, “Yeah, I, I loved you too, Jules. More than anything else.”

Smiling she turns back to the pictures in the album again, “We were good together, weren’t we?” She says softly, feeling those times coming back to her more poignantly now, sat on her couch, with this album propped open on her lap and his arm draping absently around her shoulders, “We had some good times, right?” 

“Yeah.” He says softly, wondering where they’re going with this and thinking it’s almost certainly a path he doesn’t want to go down. Thinking about past feelings for her is no doubt going to drag up the altogether more confused and conflicted feelings he has for her now and that’s not something he wants to start dredging up with her just now, “Yeah we had a lot of good times together.”

She nods, and although she seems to be agreeing with him, she still looks a little uncertain and confused as she flips through the rest of the pages, almost all of which show the two of them together, hand in hand, kissing, smiling at each other, looking into one another’s eyes.

In a few places she stops and laughs and they take a moment to reminisce, “I remember that date.” She says, pointing at one picture in particular that shows the two of them sitting at a window, arms around each other, with all of Seattle sprawled below them, she giggles faintly at the memory, “You’d never know from this picture that you were terrified out of your mind.”

“I was not” He grumbles indignantly, bristling at this.

She laughs openly at that, “Yes you were, Mike.” She tells him, the smile on her lips fond as she goes on, “I was so desperate to try that restaurant and you could never say no to me so we went all the way up there and we got through three courses and pictures and then on the balcony when we’d been up there for about two hours I kept looking over the edge to get a better view and you grabbed me back and tugged me inside and told me that you hated heights and this was pushing things a little too far for you.”       

In spite of himself, he finds himself chuckling a little as well, “I nearly died off when you specifically requested a window seat.” He says, shaking his head and smiling himself, “But you just looked so happy and you’d been planning that night out for months, you were so pleased with yourself, I couldn’t just ruin it all.”

She shakes her head at him, the effect ruined by the broad smile that’s still firmly in place on her lips, “You were an idiot, you should have said something.”

He huffs at her lack of appreciation, “I think you’ll find I was a noble, selfless, wonderful partner.”

Smiling more widely, she affectionately jostles against him and concedes quietly, “That too.”

They have a good time flipping through the albums and arguing over the things that come up between them.

“That was the holiday I nearly drowned, remember?”

“You did not nearly _drown_ , Jules, don’t exaggerate.”

“God, you remember we saved for months to be able to go away together-“

“And then I got food poisoning on the first night and the whole thing was spent in that run down little hotel?”

“Yeah, which I think made you worse. That was a place we should not have been spending any more time than absolutely necessary in.”

“I forgot about those couples costumes we wore to that Christmas party!”

“I’m glad you managed, I still have nightmares about them sometimes.”

Several hours pass in this fashion and once they finally manage to exhaust the subject and the albums he switches the television on, not wanting her to sit and stew in silence for any length of time. He leaves her with the remote while he hunts out a blanket and drapes it gently around her before sinking back down onto the chair, glancing up and realising with a small smile that she’s found all of the shows he set up to tape for her, thinking she might appreciate them when she was out of the hospital and able to watch them.

After a moment he glances down to find her pressed up as close to him as she can get, struggling to throw the blanket over both of them. He smiles and takes a corner and helps tug it over so she can settle fully beneath it, with only her head poking up out of the top, resting against his shoulder.

He chuckles lightly, “Oh how times have changed.” She blinks up at him in confusion and he laughs harder and raises the blanket she’s generously offered him half of, “I think I spent our entire marriage in danger of freezing to death because I woke up and found you wrapped in all of the covers and leaving none for me.”

She has the decency to flush at that but she also irritably stabs him with an elbow after managing to extract it out from under her which makes him wince in the midst of all of his laughter. After that she consents to snuggle happily in against him and he slides an arm around her, drawing her in closer.

“You alright?” He asks gruffly, peering keenly down at her.

She nods and nestles in against him, “Yes, I’m fine, Mike.” She tells him, smiling to prove it to him.

He turns the volume up a little on the TV even so.

****

 


	16. Kitchen Chemistry

_ Part 16 –Kitchen Chemistry  _

After a little while when he begins to wonder if he regrets taping so many things for her to come home, not quite having anticipated that he might be subjected to them as well, he catches her shifting restlessly against him and decides the time has come to try and free himself from this before he has to watch another episode of that cooking show she seems to have decided she likes a lot.

“You hungry?” He asks her abruptly, already making steps to move towards the kitchen already predicting her answer to that question.

When she nods enthusiastically he smiles and carefully eases himself out from under her then pauses the TV and coaxes her to her feet to make her come and join him, knowing that she enjoys this and that actually doing a little bit of it will be a better distraction for her than just sitting here staring and pretending to watch it.

It doesn’t take much encouragement to get her up on her feet and persuade her to trot after him into the kitchen where, with a little difficulty, she hops up onto one of her counters which makes him smile fondly at the familiarity of the gesture as well as how at home and settled she looks all of a sudden.

Crossing the room away from her, he tugs open the fridge, informing her from behind the door as he rummages, “I stocked up on some basics for you, before we came home.” Ducking back around he pads over to the worktop behind the hob and begins arranging the jumbled items in his arms, “Which is probably the fullest that fridge has ever been since you arrived here, come to think on it.”

The pronounced scowl she favours him with at those words is almost as endearingly familiar as her roundly abusing her kitchen surfaces and he just smiles again as he starts opening cupboards looking for what he needs to make them something quick and simple to eat.

This was another well-worn tradition between them when they were married. While not exactly what anyone would describe as remotely adept in the kitchen, she enjoyed trying, not to mention making a great deal of exuberant mess and noise and it was an excuse to be in the same room as him in close quarters which, there was a time, when neither of them would pass that opportunity up.

_Glancing behind him as he starts setting things out for breakfast a broad smile tugs at his lips as he catches sight of her padding towards him. She’s decked out in his shirt and her underwear and nothing else and he can’t help himself from being completely distracted by what he was trying to do._

_He crosses the room to her instead, sliding his arms around her, finding her hips beneath the shirt and resting his hands securely on top of them, pulling her in against him. “That looks much better on you than it ever did on me.” He observes lightly._

_“Mm, it looks pretty good on you, Captain.” She says, putting a firm little emphasis on the last word that he’s still trying to get used to at work._

_“Well it looks amazing on you.” He informs her steadily, leaning down as slowly as he can stand, watching her uncoil and arch up on her toes towards him, her hand sliding behind his neck as he brushes his lips gently against hers, dipping down again a little harder, and then again, a little harder still, feeling her lips part slightly this time, hungry and welcoming._

_“Morning.” She murmurs when the kiss finally reduces them to just pressing their foreheads together with her lightly rubbing noses with him._

_“Morning.” He responds with a sure smile, “You sleep alright?”_

_“Mhm.” She says, her eyes never leaving his, her smile fixed comfortably on her face as she looks up at him, her arms stretching out and coiling around his waist, her hands lost in the overlong sleeves of his shirt. Then, glancing around, a faint pout creases her face and she huffs, “I can’t believe you started breakfast without me.”_

_He dips down and presses a placating little kiss to her lips and explains, “I was going to surprise you. Breakfast in bed.” He tells her, then gives her a light little tap and a smile, “Go on and wait, I’ll bring it to you when it’s finished.”_

_“No.” She announces stoutly, shaking her head, “I want to stay here. I want to help.”_

_In answer he just smiles, then abruptly and without warning slides his hands under her and lifts her up into his arms making her squeal in surprise then giggle lightly and wrap her legs securely around his waist to balance her. Tilting forwards slightly, she cups his face between her hands as he carries her slowly and carefully across the kitchen, and kisses him deeply, indulging in this moment with him, his lips on hers, his tongue pressing gently into her mouth, his body warm against hers._

_Then he gently sets her down on her favourite worktop, leaning into her and softly kissing her nose making her smile and nuzzle in against him before he lets her go and moves back to his ingredients. Swinging her legs idly back and forth she peers interestedly over at him, “What are you making me?” She enquires lightly, smiling at him as he turns back to her._

_“You’ll see.” He smiles vaguely, placing a frying pan onto the hob beside her._

_She pouts huffily at that, “C’mon, tell me.” She urges him, “Is it pancakes?”_

_He just smiles again, “You’ll see.” He repeats maddeningly._

_“Scrambled eggs?” She tries again, widening her eyes beseechingly and tilting her head, squinting at him through the long strands of hair that fall over her face._

_He just laughs and scoots over to her for a moment to press a quick kiss to her lips, “Just, have a little patience, hm? A little faith.”_

_“I have faith.” She insists and when he snorts she sits up indignantly, “I do!” She protests, “I have faith that whatever you make me will be lovely. I just want to know what it is, that’s not a crime.” He just shakes his head, busying himself with cracking eggs into a bowl and whisking them up, “Tell me, tell me, tell me, please, Mike.”_

_Moving back to her, he kisses her forehead this time and says softly, “Your favourite.”_

_She wrinkles up her face at that, clearly still puzzled, “But I don’t know what my favourite is...Or what you think my favourite is. Mike just tell me!”_

_He just goes back to his prep work, shaking his head, a broad smile spread across his face in response to her, his eyes dancing whenever he squints up at her and she can’t stop herself from softening and smiling back._

_After a few minutes of watching him work, he wanders over to stand in front of her, his hands bracing gently on the tops of her thighs and nuzzling in lightly against her neck as he murmurs quietly, “I need into that cupboard, Jules.”_

_“Mm,” She considers this, smiling as he softly brushes his lips against her neck, “Then you need to pay a toll.” She grins at him._

_“A toll?” He repeats, raising his eyebrows in mild amusement._

_“Yes.” She says, smiling, and rubbing noses with him, “In kisses.” She smiles and he laughs softly against her lips._

_“Yes ma’am.” He breathes softly, leaning in and kissing her soft and slow. He draws back and she smiles but doesn’t budge and he widens his eyes slightly at her, “”More?” He murmurs, smiling and brushing her hair behind her ears, she nods her head and he obliges, sliding his hand behind her neck, cradling her gently as he leans in and kisses her hard, his tongue pressing into her already open mouth. She drapes her arms around his shoulders and he’s as close to her as he can physically be, pressed in hard against the cupboard beneath her, arching forwards against her as she deepens the kiss, makes it longer, harder and more intense._

_Drawing away panting slightly, his eyes half closed he presses his lip to hers once, twice more then whispers softly, “At this rate you’re going to distract me into making something else.”_

_She bites her lip and smirks up at him, her arms still around his neck, “What’s that?”_

_Nuzzling in again he kisses her neck and says in a ridiculously over-exaggerated voice while tickling her sides, “Making love, Jules.” Which has precisely the desired effect of making her burst out laughing, cuddling in to him, her eyes closed, breathing him in and smiling at him, biting lightly at his bottom lip when she kisses him again._

_“I love you.” She whispers softly against his mouth._

_He smiles into the next kiss he presses against her lips and breathes, “I love you too.”_

Shuffling round the kitchen, eventually he comes to rest facing opposite her, “I need into that cupboard, Jules.” He tells her, tugging very lightly at the door of the bottom one that her feet are currently dangling over.

In response, she lifts her legs, tucking her knees up against her chest, her feet resting on the counter top to let him in, nodding in thanks he ducks down and eventually manages to extract a whisk from the deaths, straightening up with difficulty he stumbles slightly and she reaches out on instinct, grabbing his arm and steadying him.

Padding back to his side of the cooker, he cracks a few eggs into a bowl then hands it to her along with the whisk. She grumbles at him, “You could have let me crack the eggs.”

He just chuckles at that, “I’m not going for ‘omelette extra crunchy’ Jules, I prefer mine without half of the shell mixed in.”

She glowers so furiously at him he’s almost surprised not to smell hair singing as her eyes bore into him and she mutters darkly under her breath about so help him if she finds a single scrap of shell in these eggs. But she sets to work beating as he’d wanted all the same so he decides the light joke can’t have been entirely lost on her.

They chatter quietly away as they work, falling into an almost seamless rhythm with one another. They know each other too well for anything else. Every slight movement in her direction or glance his way lets the other know almost at once what they want or need done and before long he has a large cheese and tomato omelette sizzling happily away in the frying pan beside them while she eyes it hungrily.

As soon as it’s done he slides it out onto a plate and hands it obligingly to her before he turns and starts to make up his own. She lifts the plate up proudly and saunters to the island behind him and perches herself on a stool with her prize, wandering back to accept the knife and fork Mike is holding wordlessly out behind him without even looking away from his pan, merely nodding when she grabs them from him before scampering back to her seat.

He joins her not long afterwards and perches on one of the stools opposite her, watching her between mouthfuls and making sure she’s enjoying hers. Judging by her smile, he thinks that he’s done alright here and picks idly away at his own, not really having much of an appetite and ends up handing half of his omelette over to her.

She grimaces suspiciously at him and looks reluctant to take it but he just shakes his head, anticipating her protests, “I’m not hungry.” He tells her flatly, “And you need to be building yourself up again, eat it.”

Obligingly, to his surprise, she starts munching away at it but she still squints up at him, informing him through a mouthful of cheese and tomato that, “You’re not eating enough, Mike. You’re going to wither away.”

He just chuckles at that, shaking his head and smiling. Once she’s done she settles back in her chair, stretching and yawning slightly, looking very pleased with herself. “Thanks, Mike.” She mumbles sleepily.

He smiles again, “Don’t mention it, it’s nothing.” He tells her easily, waving away her thanks, then, smirking, he adds, “You can wash up in gratitude for the delicious meal I just made you.”

“I was in a _coma_ , Mike.” She squawks in outrage that this proposal, “I nearly _died_.” She goes on looking utterly scandalised, “You can’t make me do all of washing up on top of all of that, it would be inhumane.”

Laughing again he relents and clears up their plates, wandering over towards the sink with them but making her jump a few moments later when he tosses a dish towel at her which lands on her shoulder and informs her firmly, “You can dry, I’m not doing absolutely everything.”

****

 


	17. Tortured Morpheus

_ Part 17 –Tortured Morpheus _

They sit for another few hours, curled up on the couch, her patchwork blanket thrown over both of them once again, as they burn through a few more of the episodes he had taped for her but after she’s yawned through two of them he manages to get a hold of the remote and turns the TV off, announcing that he’s going to bed and inspiring her to do likewise, which he had suspected she might.

As he folds the blanket up again he looks sternly over at her and says firmly, “If you need anything, you come and get me or you shout for me alright?” He tells her flatly, “Don’t struggle alone, that’s why I’m here, remember.”

“I know.” She says, softly and seriously, fully meeting his gaze, “I will.” She promises him, then, after a fraction of a second’s hesitation, she crosses the room to him then stands on her toes and softly kisses his cheek, “Goodnight, Mike.”

“Night, Jules.” He nods to her, watching her out of sight as she heads into her bedroom, leaving him alone in the living room.

He doesn’t linger there long, just switches the last of the lights off then pads into the guest bedroom across the hall that he had set up for himself once they had agreed that he would stay with her for a little while as she completed the last phase of her recovery.

Stretching and rubbing his eyes slightly, he shrugs out of his clothes and tugs on a loose pair of the trousers he tends to sleep in then crawls into bed. He doesn’t even bother turning out any of the lights, he knows he’s not anywhere near sleeping. Maybe she has a point in urging him to take better care of himself, he probably hasn’t been sleeping as much as he should be of late but he decides there’s nothing he can do about that right now and resolves to think about it more tomorrow. 

Reaching over to the bedside table he pulls a book towards him along with his reading glasses then slits it open, letting his bookmark fall out onto his knee as he stretches back against the pillows, slowly letting out his breath as he does so.

The book is an old favourite, worn and limp by now due to the number of times it’s been read but he can’t help revisiting it every now and then. The words are as firmly etched into his brain as they are inked onto the familiar pages and there’s something comforting about dipping in to it every now and then. He knows what’s coming but he’s always happy to revisit it whenever he feels the need. It occupies him and gives him something to do without being something he has to concentrate on too hard, which makes it perfect for times like now, when he needs distracting but his oversaturated brain can’t bear to take in any more than it already has.

Taking several slow breaths, he finds himself relaxing in to it.

Letting her clothes puddle on the floor around her feet where she’s standing and where she’s pulled them all off, she snatches up the pyjamas Mike left out for her earlier, thick and fluffy to keep her warm and comfortable on her first night back home, and wriggles into them then peels back the covers and scrambles into bed.

A soft smile spreads across her lips at the feeling of being in her own bed again after all the time in the hospital’s one with the thin, scratchy white sheets and the covers that always either felt too thick and hot and heavy or thin and left her shivering. She immediately burrows down into the soft mattress and wraps herself tightly in her covers.

It takes her a little while to drop off. Her home is somehow too quiet after having been surrounded by the hum and beep and clatter of the machines that littered her room at the hospital, not to mention missing the constant wandering murmur of people moving around in the corridor beyond her room, which never seemed to be quiet or still.

Now silence presses in on her like a shroud and seems to smother her. She expects something to emerge out of that silence, like a monster bursting from the darkness in a horror film, she expects something to attack her, to grab her, to pull her screaming from the bed and hold her down, hurt her.

Shifting restlessly, she turns over, wishing she could turn her back as easily on the strange paranoid worries that are gnawing away at her. After what feels like an age of constantly tossing around she feels exhaustion creep quietly in to claim her and somehow she’s sinking into sleep without any further protest.

Only a little over an hour later she woke panicked and panting, trying not to scream and cry out for Mike and ends up stuffing her fist in her mouth to prevent it, her eyes squeezed tight shut as she tries to get herself under control again.

She feels as weak as she did when she first woke up. Her body trembles violently all over and aches set in that seem to run bone deep. Curling in on herself she shivers in the dark, hugging herself and still shaking. Once she’s managed to get her breathing under control and she feels a little stronger, she pushes the covers back and staggers out of bed.

Idly turning a page in his book he yawns slightly and checks his watch. It’s not too late, he reasons, and he’s sure that, drowsy or not, if he tries to sleep now all he’ll achieve is lying tossing and turning back and forth in bed for several hours, working himself up more with petty worries that suddenly blossom into huge disasters in the quiet of the night and leave him largely sleepless.

Instead he settles back in and starts the next chapter, remembering this one vividly and remembering that it’s always something that engages and entertains him and, after shifting into a slightly more comfortable position, he settles himself down and resumes reading.

He breaks off a few moments later when the door in front of him opens, making him jump in surprise and tense, ready, before he realises that it’s just Jules. As soon as he sees her face, her eyes, he knows that something’s wrong. She’s unsteady on her feet, swaying a little where she stands and he can see her visibly shaking.

Hastily placing the book on the cabinet beside him he starts to get up out of bed to go to her but she shakes her head jerkily then makes her intention plain by padding over to the side of the bed. Once she reaches it she peels back the covers on her side and crawls shakily into it, coming right over to him. Hesitating for the first time she half-glances up at him but he’s already raised his arms to give her access and the faintest smile manages to break across her face and a moment later, she’s wrapping her arms around his torso, resting her head on his chest and wordlessly nestling in beside him.

As soon as she’s settled he lowers his arms again and draws her in even closer to him, rubbing her back in big, broad circular motions to try and calm her down. Even though she hasn’t said a word to him he can tell that she’s upset and that she’s been seriously rattled by something. Her hands fist around the light t-shirt he has on and her shoulders shake slightly as she burrows against him, trying to hide her face and her tears.

Curling both arms around her, he draws her in as close to him as he can, until she’s practically lying out flat on top of him and murmurs softly to her. He considers asking her what’s wrong, what happened, trying to get her to talk about it to see if that helps but she’s made it clear she doesn’t want to discuss whatever happened, though he has a shrewd idea what it must have been, and he follows her lead, giving her as much physical comfort and intimacy as he can but not trying to needle her about something she would clearly rather be left alone.

After a little while, she seems to settle out but makes no move to leave his side, instead she just slides back down onto the mattress, keeping her head firmly resting on his chest and lets her eyes close again. He watches her closely as she starts to drift off again, her breathing becoming slower and deeper and steadier than it was and he draws up the sheets around her, watching them rise and fall evenly with the movements of her body.

One hand strays towards her and he absently tangles his fingers through her hair, stroking gently as, even in sleep, she presses in close against him, seeking to be as near to him as possible. After a little while spent listening to the soft, familiar sound of her breathing beside him, he feels his own eyes starting to close and finds himself drifting off with her beside him.  

The next morning finds them in a tangle of sheets and limbs, their arms still wrapped tightly around one another. He wakes a little before her and, once he remembers that they fell asleep together last night and becomes aware of her beside him, he lies as still as he can, his fingers trailing absently through her hair until he feels her start to stir against him then he smiles and lifts his arms slightly to let her stretch and prop herself up a little.

“You sleep well?” He growls lightly as she stretches then settles down exactly where she was with her head once more pillowed against his chest.

“Mhm.” She mumbles sleepily, still yawning and making no move whatsoever to get up, clearly quite comfortable here beside him. Blinking up at him she asks, “How about you?”

He nods vaguely then says, “Can’t complain.”

Pausing a moment, he watches her as she lies contentedly against him and toys with the idea of bringing up what happened the night before now that she looks so much better but decides against it and instead asks gruffly, “You hungry?”

She seems to consider that question a moment then a wide smile that always looks a little wicked whatever its intention spreads across her lips and she balances herself on an elbow and demands coyly, “If I say yes, are you going to make me your scrambled eggs?”

He grins and chuckles at that before inclining his head to her and replying evenly, “I could be talked into that, yeah.”

“In that case I’m _starving_.” She informs him very seriously and that makes him laugh again. 

Leaning down, he absently kisses her forehead without really thinking about it then, before either of them can fully process that impulse, he says quickly, “Stay here alright, I’ll bring them to you in bed.” Smiling and looking entirely too pleased with herself she flops happily back down against the pillows and lets him wander off towards the kitchen.

He disappears for a little while then returns with a tray loaded with breakfast food for her which he carefully sets across her knees then settles back into bed beside her, claiming a piece of toast for himself, which she doesn’t notice, intent as she is on the eggs that are sitting proudly in centre stage. He watches as she begins to happily devour them, laughing slightly at the look of blissful ecstasy on her face as she inhales them.

“Why did I ever divorce you?” She demands thickly through a mouthful of food, eyes closed in delight.

“Just the small matter of hating me and not being able to stand the sight of me, nothing major.” He says flippantly, expecting her to laugh or smile and brush it off but her reaction surprises him a little.

Sitting up a little straighter she opens her eyes and looks directly at him, her tone suddenly low and serious as she says quietly, “I never hated you.” He blinks at her, a little taken aback by the sincerity in her voice, especially since it was off the back of something that should have been taken lightly, “Not really.” She says softly, her eyes wide, clearly needing him to understand this, “I thought I did. For a long time I thought I did but...I was just angry, angry with you, angry with Russell, angry with myself, angry with everything.” She pauses, still looking directly into his eyes with an intensity that should have burned, “But I never, I could never really _hate_ you, Mike.”

Reaching over he gives her hand a soft squeeze and nods, not quite sure what to say to all of this, “I understand.” He says finally, “I, I never really hated you either, Jules, you know that right?”

Nodding, she seems to decide that the matter can be settled at that and returns quite the thing to her eggs, munching them up again and playfully whacking his hand when it comes sneaking towards her tray again to steal another slice of toast.

Once she’s finished her breakfast and has set the tray aside on the bedside cabinet and reclines back he shifts to turn towards her then resolves to ask what he’s been wanting to ask her since they woke up this morning. Cautiously, watching her closely he says as evenly as he can, “Do you want to talk about last night?”

She seizes up ever so slightly as he says that. She never expected that he would just let the matter go without any questioning of her whatsoever, she had been waiting for him to ask this, knowing that it’s just in his nature, that he’s already shown more restraint than she would have thought possible about something like this but she isn’t sure if she wants to talk about it, or if she even has anything to say on the subject but she decides not to shut him down too soon.

“What about it?” She replies, trying to make her tone as casual as she can, knowing he’s unlikely to take her at that, knowing that he’ll understand she’s playing for time.

Pausing a moment, he weighs his options then says in a measured voice, “Was there a reason you came to sleep with me instead of staying in your room last night?” His tone is as light as he can make it without utterly trivialising it, then he adds off of the slight flicker of doubt and worry he catches in her eyes, “Apart from just putting your frozen cold feet on my nice warm legs that is.”

That wrings a faint little smile out of her as he’d hoped it would. Then she sobers up almost at once and looks away from him to mumble thickly, “I, I had a nightmare.”

He nods slowly, having guessed that that was the problem, then reaches over and softly squeezes her hand and asks softly, “Do you want to talk about it? About what happened?”

After a moment, she settles in close to him then starts to talk in a low, flat, deadened little voice, “I saw...I saw flashes of the attack.” He feels himself tense against her but forces himself not to speak or react. She’s trembling against him once more and he instinctively puts his arms around her, wanting to comfort her as she goes on, “I’d never, I’d never really remembered anything before now it was all just blank...Russell had told me what happened and who attacked me but for me I had no memory of it.” Shifting against him so that she’s closer to him, she shrugs and mumbles, “I suppose coming back here,” She gestures around them at the condo, “It triggered a lot of memories I thought I didn’t have...A lot of memories I wish I didn’t have.”

He can feel the anger rippling through him, his muscles taut and strains but he tries not to let it show, knowing that it’s not going to be of any use to her right now, drawing her in a little closer to him, he very gently kisses the top of her head then murmurs softly but firmly, “The bastard’s behind bars now. He can’t touch you, he can’t hurt you ever again.” He rubs her back, looking straight in her eyes as he says fiercely, “You’re safe now. Nothing’s going to happen to you. I won’t let it.”

A faint, wobbly little smile ghosts across her lips and she nestles against him, resting her head on his chest and murmurs softly, “I know, Mike.”

****

 


	18. Essentials

_ Part 18 –Essentials  _

Once they’ve managed to drag themselves out of bed, Mike settles her in front of the TV then sits with pen and paper in hand and starts scribbling out a list, occasionally getting up to poke around in her fridge and kitchen cupboards, invariably sighing and shaking his head and then making another note on his paper.

She doesn’t pay a huge amount of attention to him or what he’s doing until he picks up a coat and starts hunting around for his keys, then she refocuses herself entirely on him, looking away from the TV where she has Lord of the Rings running for the umpteenth time.

“Where are you going?” She demands, peering over the back of her sofa to eye him keenly. 

Glancing up at her as he’s making his final checks to be sure he has keys and his wallet, he blinks at her in slight bemusement then explains, “We need food, Jules. I’m going grocery shopping.”

To his slight surprise, she bounds immediately to her feet and announces flatly, “I’m coming too.”

“Really?” He says before thinking, “You never showed much interest for it when we were married. And judging by the state I found your fridge and cupboards in when I first got here you still don’t have much of a taste for it.”

Predictably, she greets this, altogether fair, assessment with a pronounced scowl and by crossing her arms mutinously across her chest as she glowers at him.

Sighing and beginning to resign himself to this, he has a last ditch stab at making an appeal to her, “I can handle this, I don’t need you to come and hold my hand.” He tells her firmly, “And I don’t want you overdoing things, I only just got you home, just relax, I’ll do this sort of stuff, it’s why I’m here.”

Rolling her eyes her only response is to turn off the TV behind her and wander towards him, “I don’t think a trip to the supermarket is going to return me to a crippling coma, Mike.” She informs him flatly, “You worry too much.”

“My job here is to keep an eye on you.” He growls, not quite willing to bend to her wishes too easily and having genuine reservations about this.

“And it’ll be much easier to do that if I’m actually with you instead of wasting away here.” She informs him sweetly, then, her tone becoming a little more imploring, “Come on, Mike, I’ve been shut up in a hospital for months and months, you’ve just moved my prison from the hospital to my condo, I want to get out and do something. Even if it’s just shopping.”

She looks so dejected when she says that that he can feel himself softening to her will as he looks at her, like ice melting before a flamethrower and, sympathies sufficiently aroused sighs and tosses a coat to her, “Fine. But we’re not going to be out that long and if you feel dizzy or unsteady or anything-“

“Yes, yes, I’ll report it to you, mother hen in chief.” She grumbles, rolling her eyes at him yet again as she slouches past him to the door and beckons for him to follow her. “Come on.” She says, lifting her chin to coax him after her. 

Sighing, he shrugs his coat on firmly and follows her to the door, ushering her out before him and down to the car. He can’t stop himself carefully handing her the keys to her car when she stares at him with large, hopeful eyes to which she responds with a worrying grin that immediately makes him question the decision, but by that point it’s too late and she’s already settled herself in the driver’s seat as though it’s a throne.

Resignedly, he lowers himself, with a little less enthusiasm, into the passenger seat. Four minutes in the car with her is enough to remind himself why he was so reluctant to do this, and why they had bickered so much about her driving when they were married. She wove through the streets with an almost unconcerned ease, reacting to threats before they developed and having an almost instinctive knowledge of the roads. Which was all very well and good but she relied on that instinct so much that she drove far too fast, far too recklessly and with most of that time spent staring at him as she attempted to have a friendly conversation while he tried to find something to grip on to for grim death.

The best thing that can be said for the journey was that it was short. Only fifteen hair-raising minutes later they arrive at her supermarket of choice and she breezes out quite the thing while he plants his feet on tarmac like a man nearly drowned in the vast ocean finally being reunited with dry land once more.

Falling in to step beside her, he shoves his hands in his pockets as they walk from the car to the supermarket, his eyes darting fervently towards her every few minutes just to make sure the adrenaline fuelled dash down the road hasn’t overexcited her. He isn’t sure whether to be pleased or not that she seems entirely unruffled by what’s clearly a general routine for her and decides to let it go just this once. She is still recovering after all, that buys her some leeway.

Deciding he doesn’t want any small children run over as they do the rounds, he takes charge of the trolley and attempts, largely in vain, to set a steady pace around the shop for her which doesn’t work, largely because of the fact that she knows her way around these aisles far better than he does and seems instinctively drawn to the products she wants, only becoming irritated when she discovers that, after all her months of not visiting it, some of the items aren’t in their proper place.

He doesn’t think much of what she’s doing and wanders up and down the aisles after her, hardly noticing what she’s flinging in to the trolley. When he dares to take a glance down at her decisions however he stops dead in the middle of the aisle and snorts in disbelief then reaches in and begins to lift almost everything she’s put in out again.

Seeing what he’s doing, she makes an irritable beeline for him, her arms full of three large buckets of her favourite ice cream flavours. “What are you doing?” She demands in horror as he upsets her carefully constructed piles of ever unhealthier foods she wants to eat for the week.

“You can’t have all of this.” he tells her in exasperation, shaking his head, “The hospital gave us a list of things that would be good for you, to build you up again. None of this was on it.”

She glowers dangerously at him, then her face crumples miserably and she complains, “I’ve been living on hospital food for months, Mike. I want to eat something that I can actually _taste_. And you can’t complain, the first thing you did when you came and took me out of my clinical prison was to feed me pancakes and milkshake, you gave me back my taste for that sort of food, it’s all your fault-“

“Don’t.” He grumbles irritably, suddenly regretting that decision as it comes back to haunt him, “We have to do what your doctors have suggested, Jules. You can go back to eating this junk and set yourself on a crash course for having an early heart attack again once you’re fully healthy again, until then-“ He rummages around in his top pocket and finds the list he had written for this trip earlier and presses it on her, “We’re doing what the doctors have told you to do.”

Taking the list from him as though it’s diseased, she squints down at it, her face set, as though trying to decide what on it she can stand to suffer for the next few months while she fully recovers. Sighing, he offers, “I can make you whatever you want that has some of the things on that list.”

Something in her face brightens at that and she blinks up at him, “Really?” She asks, looking a deal happier about all of this.

Wondering if this is going to be another decision he’ll come to regret, Mike nods, “Whatever you want. Freshly made for you every night by your own personal slave.” He informs her drily.

She whacks his arm lightly to tell him off for that then consults his list again and, with a renewed enthusiasm, starts reeling off a list of dishes that he used to make for her when they were married. The number she remembers slightly surprises him but after a few minutes of discussion they come to an agreement for the next week’s menu and start from scratch again finding what they need.

After a while, of drifting around the aisles with her fetching whatever they need, he starts paying more attention to what she’s putting in again and, frowning slightly, he picks up a large bag of flavoured nuts she’s tossed into the trolley behind her, “Did you grow new taste buds in that coma, Jules?” He demands, waving them at her.

She looks up vaguely from the two packets of crisps she’s weighing in her hands, trying to choose between flavours, “Mm?” She mumbles absently, only half-listening to him.

“You hate these, remember.” He says, wondering if he should be worried about her but this finally seems to get her full attention.

“Yes.” She sighs, exaggerating the word and wandering back to him, apparently deciding that she’s just going to take both bags of crisps and save the effort of choosing, “But you don’t. They’re your favourite.”

This answer takes him aback so much that he stands and stares for so long that eventually she rolls her eyes, snatches the bag of nuts from him, tosses them back into the trolley then takes charge of it. She’s only struggled a few feet with the weight of it before he comes to his senses and swoops in to take over, shooing her out of the way looking concerned. She scowls and rolls her eyes at him but relinquishes control with surprising ease and continues dandering up and down the aisles adding this and that to the trolley.

There’s a surprising _intimacy_ to this. They bicker and banter easily as they wander through the shop picking up what they need and it reminds him achingly of the times when they had been married and had done this together. It was a task that had largely fallen upon him but she had come enough to make this strangely familiar at the same time as being somewhat alien as well .It’s an odd feeling, and even as they pay and head back to the car, with him refusing to let her carry anything that’s heavier than a few loaves of bread, he can’t figure out where he stands with all of this.

When they had said at the hospital she should really have someone with her to help her for at the very least a few weeks after she left, he had volunteered without thinking. He hadn’t really considered how it would feel to be living with her again and falling into old domestic habits and routines. After a moment or two, he comes to the conclusion that he’s over-thinking things and decides to just ride this out, whatever this is, see how the cards fall and then deal with them once they do.

She needs him to be with her, or else she’d still have been stuck in that damn hospital, and a part of him needs this too, needs to see her settle in at home again and really get back on her feet, make sure she’s doing alright. He’s still more affected by what happened to her than he’s quite willing to admit to anyone, including himself. This is good for both of them, what they have right now, and he decides to just keep it that way without complicating anything for the time being.

****

 


	19. Horror Show

_ Part 19 –Horror Show  _

He stares blandly at the screen, having another sip of coffee as she squeaks and burrows into him again. Chuckling, he blinks down at her, automatically putting an arm around her and drawing her in a little bit closer to him even as he does so.

“I don’t know why you wanted to watch this.” He tells her, nodding towards the horror film they have on, looking down at her with faint amusement as she pulls her blanket a little more tightly around her and nestles into him, her eyes wide and round as plates, apparently unable to look away from the screen. “You’ve always hated them.”

“I have _not_.” She protests furiously, propping herself up to glower grumpily at him, then, faltering slightly, she huddles in against him once more, mumbling in a thickly muffled voice against his arm, “This one is just really scary, okay.”

That just makes him laugh again, to her evident annoyance judging by the elbow she sticks resentfully into his side in punishment for that slight, but if anything that just makes him laugh all the harder, shaking his head and finally managing to get out, “You always say that too.”

“No I do not, Mike!” She squawks in outraged indignation, her voice becoming higher as she dares to emerge from her blankets again so that she can glare at him properly. Unfortunately, in doing so she also catches sight of the screen again and her furious scowls are cut off with a loud, shrill yelp of fear that results in her burying into him again.

Smiling, he tugs her blanket up over her, putting his arms around her and promising faithfully, “Don’t worry, Jules, I’ll protect you from the mad, bloodthirsty cannibal if he comes to get you.”

She tries to sound tough and fierce but her voice comes out in a thick, muffled mumble because she’s still burrowing into his side, “You better.”

****

 


	20. Drunk Dancing

_ Part 20 –Drunk Dancing _

Yawning slightly, he pads back up the stairs, hoping that she’s still doing alright. His sister had had a frantic emergency that had required him to fly back to Seattle and help her cope with it and he’d had to leave her on her own for the day, which he hadn’t been entirely pleased about but she had gotten very grumpy with him when he had dithered over his family issues and practically packed a bag for him and marched him out of the door and to the airport.

It’s only been a day or so, but he realises as he fumbles with the keys in his hand, that he’s missed her, having her around during the day and sleeping next to him at night, which she’s taken to doing. Since that first night after her nightmare when she came and crawled in beside him, by silent, mutual agreement, they’ve just taken to settling together in the master bedroom with the guest room he was using remaining largely empty.

He doesn’t mind. He’s here for her and having him by her side in the night makes her more comfortable. She’s woken up a few more times, woken by strange disjointed flashes of events she barely remembers and can’t piece together enough to understand at which times she likes having him there to calm her down and he likes being on hand to be able to look after her. It just makes sense for them both and they were married for long enough, sharing a bed isn’t all that dramatic in the great scheme of things.

Yawning again he finally manages to make the keys turn in the lock then pushes into the apartment, calling, “It’s only me, Jules.”

When he wanders into the living room he finds her dancing happily around it in her socks, the music blaring, her eyes closed, a t-shirt that’s much too big for her which he recognises as one of his own is drowning her and is pulled down over loose pyjama bottoms.

He makes a quick scan of the room and takes note of the wine bottle and glass which suddenly makes everything else make sense and, grinning slightly, drops his bags by the door and moves a little closer to her, at which point she seems to become aware that he’s there and she beams at him in welcome.

“Are you drunk, Jules?” He demands, trying to sound stern but knowing that his eyes are twinkling and giving him away by her expression.

“No, Captain.” She tells him innocently, pulling a face as though butter wouldn’t melt, trying to convince him that she’s never done a thing wrong a day in her life. He just raises his eyebrows significantly at her and she shuffles her feet guiltily, “Maybe a little bit, Captain.” She amends after a moment’s pause.

He smiles and finds himself chuckling slightly, shaking his head as she further explains her actions, “They only just told me that I could have alcohol again.” She informs him, as though this suddenly makes everything clear, which he supposes it does in a way, “I’m celebrating.” She adds, just in case that first part wasn’t evidence enough.

“I can see that.” He smirks at her, nodding towards the wine bottle on the side of the table. It’s only half empty but given the time she’s spent without it and the condition she’s been in he isn’t surprised to realise that that alone has made her more than a little tipsy.

She surprises him when she wanders over to him a moment later and slides her hand through his then tugs him forwards with her. He obligingly follows after her, his sense of surprise mounting when, smiling up happily at him, she interlaces their fingers on one hand while she takes his other and places it about her waist, leaning up and murmuring happily, “You should celebrate with me.”

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.” He mumbles, feeling himself, inexplicably, turning a little red in response to her attentions and he begins trying to gentle disentangle himself from her.

“Why?” She asks, reasonably, a small frown creasing her brow, “There’s no harm in it.” She says, stepping in a little closer as the track changes with a smile on her face, “And this is one of your favourites.” She says of the song that’s now filling her apartment.

“I know, but-“ He says, trying to find a reason for his protesting this that will satisfy her, and trying to explain it to himself at the same time come to think of that.

“It’s just a little dancing.” She coaxes, looking a little put out at his unexpected reluctance, “I want you to dance with me, Mike.”

Giving himself a little shake, he steps forwards and slides his arm more firmly around her waist, pulling her in much closer until their bodies are pressed together and she smiles and plants her head against his chest with obvious delight, closing her eyes and swaying slightly, turning slowly on the spot with his arms wrapped carefully around her and he finds himself smiling as well. 

“This is nice.” She murmurs softly, nestling in against his warmth and smiling against his chest, her eyes closed as they revolve slowly on the spot together.

Resting his chin on the top of her head he finds himself nodding, his hand wandering gently up and down her back, rubbing gently and trailing his fingers up and down her spine, beginning between her shoulder blades and enjoying the way she shudders slightly as she reaches the base of her spine in the small of her back.

“Yeah.” He breathes softly, “It is.”

Smiling she nuzzled in against him, blinking up at her with a soft smile on her lips, her eyes over-bright and wide, her pupils dilating when she meets his gaze. Brushing back her hair behind her ear he smiles faintly back at her.

Standing up on her toes, her eyes never leaving his, her lips slightly parted. A second before he has to decide how to react to this, her foot slips out from under her and he instinctively darts forwards and catches her, his arms looping around her and pressing her hard against him. Then he gently raises her up and sets her back on her toes again, “ _Careful_.” He growls quietly.

“It’s okay.” She breathes quietly, her breath whispering against his skin because she’s so close to him, “I knew you’d save me.”

A soft smile creases his lips then he slides his hands under her legs and scoops her tenderly into his arms, “C’mon, now I’m saving you from yourself.” He informs her, smiling quietly, “And an even worse headache in the morning.”

“Mm, so thoughtful.” She mumbles quietly, burrowing into him.

He smiles, “I’m here to look after you, remember. You’ve been in a coma, you need looking after.”

This causes her to scowl grumpily at him, “I’m the only one who gets to play the coma card, Mike, you can’t do that, it’s not fair.”

He chuckles lightly at that, carrying her into the bedroom and settling her into her bed, peeling back the covers and tucking her in and softly kissing her forehead, stroking back her hair as he perches beside her, watching as she snuggles down.

“Night, Mike.” She mumbles feebly, yawning and closing her eyes.

“Night, Jules.” He murmurs back with another soft smile.

****

 


	21. The Violence In The Pouring Rain

_ Part 21 –The Violence In The Pouring Rain _

The arm he had wrapped tenderly about her delicate shoulders as they slept, faintly twined together, is thrown away from him with the violence of a bomb blast and that along with her loud cry of abject terror makes him wake up almost immediately. His senses seeming to ring as he stares around the room.

Adrenaline crashes through his system as he tries to come to terms with what’s happening; too many sudden, unexpected things all occurring within seconds of each other for his brain to process them fully in the moment. Reaching instinctively for the gun in the bottom drawer, ready to attack whoever has made her cry out like that with all the force necessary, he’s swung down and drawn it out a few inches before he acclimatises to the situation and realises what’s happening.

Then he focuses his attention on her. What he sees is frightening and chills him to the core. 

She’s sitting bolt upright in the bed beside him. From the dim light filtering in through the thin curtains in front of the window adjacent to the bed he can see her silhouette contrasted sharply against it. Every inch of it is shaking uncontrollably.

He can hear her ragged, laboured breathing audibly rattling through her chest as she gasps for air, seemingly unable to take in enough no matter how hard she pants and gulps and claws at it with desperate, starved lungs.

Her breathing is made even more difficult by the dry, wracking sobs of pure terror that are making her shudder even worse than her trembling that he can tell she’s trying so hard to stop but in a lot of ways that’s only making the problem worse.

He’s frozen for a moment, utterly thrown by what’s happening, panicking slightly. Then the reason and rational born of years of having to keep a cool head under pressure over takes the emotional aspect of the situation and he begins appropriately reacting to the situation and his brain starts making logical steps to help him understand what’s happened and what’s causing it.

 She must have had another nightmare, he realises, worse than any of the ones she’s had previously. Since he’s stayed with her and shared her bed she’s woken up with cries of fear and fright three or four times, maybe, but none of them have come close to being as bad as what he’s witnessing right now.

She looks wretched, half-dead, as though she’s aged a hundred years in the last few seconds. She’s chalk white and so pale that he would have been worried she was about to faint if she wasn’t so clearly worked up.

On those few previous occasions she had jolted out of sleep with a wordless, panicked shout and a little flailing around in the dark, a few quick, soft words, him gently rubbing her back and assuring her that he’s here, she’s safe had usually been enough to get her to calm down and within a few minutes, half an hour at the most, she was asleep once again, her arms around him, her deep, slow, steady breathing filling the room until he too managed to slip off once more.

This is more than just a bad reaction to a nightmare though, he can see that at once and he makes the first mistake of instinctively reaching out a hand to her, wanting to draw her in, the way he always has, to hold her, to comfort her, to reassure her, to make her feel safe and help her calm down, but when she’s as worked up at this he realises, a moment after he does it, that it’s a bad idea.

The instant his hand makes, even brief, soft contact with her shoulder she throws him off of her as violently as she would throw off a burning lash branded against her skin and looks at him with unconcealed terror in her eyes, as though she can’t see him at all, she sees a stranger, someone she doesn’t know, someone who might hurt her, someone who terrifies her and that hurts him more than anything else that’s ever been said between them over the years.

“Don’t...touch...don’t, don’t touch me. Don’t-” She snarls at him, her voice broken, spitting as though the words are poison in her mouth, breaking off, overcome by some unseen force that stops her words as though they’ve flicked some sort of switch that makes her incapable.

After that she turns away from him like a wounded animal, amped up on fear and twice as deadly despite being injured. Then something in her seems to break. Her breath catches and she trembles more violently than ever. Panic blossoms in her eyes as she gasps at the air as though choking, as though someone has their hands around her throat and is preventing her from taking a breath.

Once again, thankfully, rational kicks in on time for him to assess the situation, understand what’s happening, and deal with it. Moving swiftly around to sit in front of her, but making quite sure that he doesn’t touch her again, though it takes almost every ounce of self-control he has not to reach out to her to try and comfort her when she’s in this state, making him feel almost utterly powerless. 

In a loud, clear voice he says firmly, “Jules. Jules look at me, just focus on me okay. Jules.” The use of her name helps and her eyes actually snap up to meet his which was more than he’d expected and takes as a sign to proceed, “I want you to tell me what you see here around you right now.” He says again, the instruction simple and concise, “Tell me three things you can see in the room around you.” He says firmly, “Go on.” He urges, gently, when she doesn’t respond.

It seems to take her a moment first to hear what he’s said and then to process and make sense of it, finally, she manages to say in something little above a strangled whisper, “You.” He nods encouragingly and she goes on, her voice still faint and shaky and so unlike her own, “You. Mike. Mike.”

“Good.” He says, nodding and smiling coaxingly, “Really good, what else?”

She looks around her and her eyes light on the cabinet by her bed, “The book, the book I was reading last night.” She says, her voice sounding a little stronger and surer now.

“Good.” He says again, supporting her and trying to persuade her to go on, “One more.”

“The blankets.” She mumbles hoarsely, still clutching two large fistfuls of him in her hands, that slacken at once as she realises this.

“What colour are they?”

“Blue.” She murmurs, meeting his eyes at last, “It’s blue.”

He nods again, opening his arms slightly, inviting her to him, if she wants it and at last she accepts and tumbles into his arms, her shoulders shaking, still out of fear and the aftermath of what she just went through, but also now heaving with violent, quaking sobs as she howls into his chest, clinging to him with a desperate, almost painful strength.

Heart breaking for her, he cradles her against him, rocking her gently back and forward and murmuring softly to her, tangling his fingers in her hair and gently holding her to him, making sure not to make his embrace too tight or too firm or make her feel as though she’s stuck in any way, not wanting to cause her to panic again.

But she just grips onto the back of his t-shirt and burrows against him, shaking and crying. Now that she’s in his arms he can feel how damp the oversized shirt she uses to sleep in is, plastered to her skin by a cold, clinging sweat that makes his fingers stick a few times as he continues to rub her back, attempting to calm her down.

It takes almost twenty minutes before she’s even remotely returned to herself and even then, her firm hold on him doesn’t loosen an inch, she stays pressed closely against him, as though afraid if she lets him go something horrible will happen, or she’ll fall apart again, or relive whatever it is she was just forced to go through. He lets her hold on to him as long as she needs, patiently murmuring to her with hollow little words, telling her she’s alright, that it’s all going to be alright, that he’s here, he’s here with her now, everything will be okay.

When she finally stops crying, she just lies huddled in his arms, her face pressed firmly against her chest, almost as though she’s trying to hide from him. She feels suddenly tiny and delicate, fragile. She had always been petite but the vulnerability she had sometimes shared with him late at night when the rest of the world had closed its eyes and they were alone had never been something he could physically feel until now.

He wants to protect her, he wants to take care of her, he wants to promise her that no-one will ever hurt her again, no-one will ever touch her again if that’s not what she wants, he damn well won’t let them. Most of all, he just wants her to be able to believe that again. To be able to feel safe in her own home. To have whatever piece that bastard took from her given back so she can sleep again.

After a long time, he murmurs her name and she nods her head, nestling in a little closer to him but managing an exhausted little, “I’m okay, Mike.” The words slurring together slightly as she buries in to his side

He nods and very gently kisses the top of her head, an absent gesture of intimacy that she takes for comfort and closes her eyes again, nestling in to him. He gives her a little longer, to the point that he can sense she’s starting to slip physically away from him, releasing her hold on him ever so slightly at which point, gently stroking her hair he asks softly, “Is it okay if I leave you for a few minutes? I just want to run the shower. We can get you freshened up, I think it’ll help you feel better.”

Blinking up at him with large, strangely guileless, almost innocent eyes, despite the horrors she’s been put through recently, she finally nods, “That’s okay.” Then, biting her lip and with the air of being unable to stop herself, she adds, “And then you’ll come right back to me.”

“I swear I will.” He murmurs seriously, his eyes never leaving hers now that she’s meeting his gaze again. “I can stay a little bit longer here if that would help, we don’t have to do this-“

“No.” She says, nodding and trying to pull herself together a little bit, at least in appearance if nothing else, “No it’s a good idea. Thank you.” He nods and softly kisses the side of her head again then eases himself out of bed and pads out of the room, glancing back at her as he goes.

She can’t help grabbing up his pillow a few seconds after he leaves the room and hugging it against herself.

He returns a few minutes later as promised and wanders over to her, helping her to her feet and placing an arm around her waist and supporting her the short way to the bathroom, where she can hear the water running for the shower as she approaches. She feels so weak and feeble, as though the nightmare has sent her sprawling back months, to how she was when she first woke up, unable to stand up with gripping onto metal rails or another person for support.

She despises it. She despises every second, every step, every fleeting tremor that lets him see the weakness behind the feeble shell she’s trying to coat herself in again. It feels as though her own body is betraying her, betraying her to the monster who ruined it in the first place. But Mike stays resolutely by her side and guides her carefully into the bathroom where he sets her down gently then nods to her.

He retreats, flushing a little bit and mumbling about giving her some privacy now, he tells her he’s laid everything out for her and he’ll be waiting when she’s done. If she needs anything else she only has to call him. Withdrawing once he’s said that with a small nod, he leaves her alone in her little bathroom as it slowly starts to fill with steam from the slowly heating shower beside her.

Some part of her feels, stupidly, almost vulnerable now that he’s left her. He’s been such a solid safety net for her since he’s been here and such a strong support this evening that now he’s gone, even though the logical part of her knows he’s only a few feet away, she can’t help feeling suddenly defenceless, like a wounded animal in the middle of a flat plain, just waiting for something to sight and hunt her.

Giving herself a little shake, she tries to push those thoughts away. Dragging herself unsteadily to her feet she manages to make it to the sink and brace herself over that but her legs tremble so violently she’s afraid they’re going to give out from under her. Taking several deep breaths, she tries to master herself again, but she can’t suddenly return the strength to her drained muscles. The reasons Mike and her doctors have been so insistent that she not overdo things have never been clearer as she stands here now, her body betraying her, utterly exhausted.

Opening her eyes again, she looks up and what she sees shocks her. Her eyes are hollow, with thick dark rings beneath them. These look even worse when contrasted with her milk white skin, blotchy and red in places because she’s been crying so much. Her eyes are bloodshot and seem to have lost some of the life in them.

Closing her eyes again, and wishing now that she had never opened them, never seen the shadow of her former self that she’s become, that would make her scream if she had the strength, she turns back to the little box he’d sat her down on and collapses onto it, shaking again and wishing it would stop.

When she had still been in the hospital, the shaking had bothered her and upset her more than her flagging strength. She knew that she could build up her muscles again and get them back to the way they were with some hard work and a pinch of grim determination, which she had never lacked for. Her hands shaking whenever she lifted anything too heavy and having nowhere near enough precision or control as she had been used to had utterly terrified her.

That was something she had never experienced before and feared that it was caused by the injury she had sustained all those months ago that she was still healing from even today. She had been so afraid that her hands would never stop doing that, that they would shake until the day she died, would stop her from being able to do her job, from being able to do so many little things that she had taken for granted until suddenly she couldn’t do them without help anymore.

It had improved with physiotherapy however and by the time she left unless she tried to lift anything ridiculous heavy or perform neurosurgery, she was able to complete most day to day tasks and she was sure that she would be able to return to work eventually, when she was feeling up to it.

 Though she knows that this shaking is only temporary it takes her back to those days in the hospital she had felt weakest, least like herself and most angry about what had been done to her. She feels powerless here again, so weak and frail that she isn’t even sure she can shower herself.

She hates him. She despises him. She wants to throw things. She wants to rant and rave and scream that this isn’t fair, that none of this is fair. She wants to hit him, to hurt him, to put him through what she’s been through because of him, she wants him to feel this, she wants him to feel so weak he can’t look after himself, so weak that she’s terrified someone is going to hurt her, so weak she feels vulnerable and utterly out of control of herself and her own surroundings which she’s despised for so many years now that this confinement in only that feeling for so long has felt like some cruel form of torture.

Most of all she wants to escape from all of this. She wants it all to stop. She’s sick of the nightmares that plague her at night, that, for all their consistency and familiarity by now, and for all that she knows what they’re about, still don’t make much sense at all to her. She wants her old strength back, her old life back. A life where she doesn’t need Mike standing beside her at every hour of the day in case she needs him. She’s loved having him here and he’s been amazing with her, and she knows that, but she hates the fact that she’s needed him here at all, that he’s had to be here to take care of her and not just spend time with her.

She just wants everything to go back to the way it was before.

Taking several deep breaths, she tries not to keep focusing on what she can’t have and instead on what she needs to do now. Winding her hands under the hem of her shirt, she attempts to draw it up over her head and take it off but her hands shake too badly and she lets it drop in exasperation, feeling tears burn down her cheeks yet again, her head thumping back hopelessly against the wall behind her as it falls right back in place and she realises that she can’t even do this by herself.

Pacing, he’s been told, is a bad habit. She used to cluck her tongue at him all the time when they were married, and even before that, complaining that it made her nervous when he did it but he can’t help it. There’s too much nervous energy still thundering through his system and he has to do _something_ with it. Sitting there blithely twiddling his thumbs isn’t an option, he needs to feel like he’s doing something, like he’s ready, standing up and moving helps to give him that illusion, that if something happens he can deal with it then and there, without having to drag himself up as well to react to whatever it is.

He’s worried about her, and would probably have called a doctor to come and have a look at her if he didn’t know that she’d flay him alive for even making the suggestion. In that sense he’d decided it would be too counter-productive. The stress that it would cause her and the trust it would ruin between them wasn’t worth it. At the moment. If she showed any signs of getting worse he would have no choice and damn if she hate him forever, he’d rather that than he sit back and let something terrible happen to her. But for now, he’s content. Or as content as he can be in a situation like this.

It’s only been a little over five minutes since he left her alone in her bathroom to try and shower away what had happened earlier when his restless vigil is interrupted by her faint, hoarse voice calling to him through the door, “Mike?”

“I’m here.” He responds at once, “I’m here, what do you need, Jules?”

“You.” Is the feeble answer he gets, which confuses him for a moment until she expands slightly, “I need you to come in here and help me.”

Without pausing to think he immediately does as he’s told and pushes cautiously into the room where he finds her swaying unsteadily in the middle of it, her eyes full of tears again, but this time he recognises the anger and the frustration in them as well as the exhausted misery.

“What do you need?” he asks her gently, unable to stop himself from putting a supportive hand on her shoulder, which she does not seem averse to.

“Help.” She says finally, as though admitting this and saying this one simple word has cost her everything she has left in this world, “I need you to help me, I, I can’t do it myself.”

“Of course.” He says quietly, stepping in a little closer to her until he’s standing in front of her, where she hangs her head, unable to look him in the eye as she asks for his assistance.

As gently as he can, he slides his hands under her shirt, finding hot, feverish skin beneath the thin, damp bit of fabric which suddenly makes him hesitate and need to meet her eyes before he does this, “You’re, you’re sure?” He checks firmly with her, squinting down at her.

She gives him what she needs and finally meets his eyes before she nods and even manages to allow a faint, wan smile to crease her lips as she does so, “Nothing you haven’t seen before, is it?” 

When he tries to return the smile as he carefully draws the shirt up over her head however, he realises that assessment isn’t strictly true. She has a new collection of little scars peppering her body, and one of the most pronounced is just beneath her ribs on the left hand side of her body that wasn’t there the last time he saw her like this. He can’t stop his fingers from brushing over it, trying to familiarise himself with this strange new and unfamiliar part of her, but he does bite his tongue and stop himself from asking her to talk about it right now. Another time, maybe.

Sinking carefully down to his knees in front of her, he tugs off the last of her clothes, the light shorts she has on and helps her to step out of them without getting tangled up, leaving her completely naked by the time he gets to his feet again, dropping her clothes in a neat little pile on a nearby counter.

Then he gives her a hand and carefully guides her into the shower, one hand automatically darting to her waist to support her up the small step into the cubicle, waiting until she has one hand firmly braced against the wall in front of her before he relaxes his grip on her. 

Pausing as he watches her tremble, most of her efforts going into remaining upright, he finally asks on impulse, “You mind if I join you?” She glances over her shoulder at him, her expression hard to read, “To, to help.” He clarifies hastily and a little unnecessarily. 

She nods slowly without seeming to give the matter any thought at all, forcing another smile for him as she says, “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

He nods and quickly strips off his clothes as well as she turns back to the steady stream of water pouring from the showerhead above her. The water is only lukewarm but against her burning, feverishly hot skin, it almost feels cold. But it’s soothing and somewhat refreshing and she feels a little cleaner, no longer tainted by the memory of what happened, what she had seen, and clearer than she had before, her brain starts making valiant attempts at processing what’s happening once more.

She feels Mike step in behind her and cautiously place his hands on her back to steady her as he does so. Even in the condition she’s in, she can sense his hesitation and his reluctance with all of this, entirely for her benefit, she knows, and also entirely unnecessary. She trusts him completely, she feels comfortable with him, more so than anyone else, even when she’s as vulnerable and naked as she is now. She knows him and she trusts him implicitly, whatever has happened between them in past years, she knows that he would never hurt her in any way; that he wouldn’t even dream of it.

After a moment’s hesitation from him, she reaches out and passes him back a bottle of shower gel. He understands immediately and takes it for her, relaxing into this and knowing that he’s been accepted, that she’s happy and comfortable with what’s going on and that was everything he needed to be able to proceed.

Gently, he starts carefully washing her back, rubbing shower gel into it with big, tender motions, massaging the knots from her muscles at the same time then guiding her and positioning her so that the right parts of her body end up under the shower’s jet as he rinses her off. She feels the tension starting to ebb and seep from her, as though it too as being swept down the drain beside her toes along with the thick, soapy bubbles he’s sweeping from her skin.

This helps, she realises, having him here, having him tend to her like this. She feels calm again because of his presence and his attentions and realises that this was exactly what she needed right now, as he had known when he suggested it. He knows her too, she realises, and finds that she doesn’t mind that feeling at all.

Her body starts to melt into his gentle attentions, accepting his hands on her skin as it would have done with almost no other in this state and she finds her eyes closing, leaning against the wall in front of her and allowing Mike to tend to her completely, feeling a certain amount of strength start to seep back into her muscles as the adrenaline begins to leave her system, helping her balance out and settle down again.

“Is this helping?” He growls quietly as he sets about shampooing her hair for her, his fingers rubbing and massaging in a way she likes.

“Mhm.” She mumbles contentedly, an unforced, genuine little smile brushing across her lips as she says it and that seems to be good enough for him.

Once he’s finished rinsing off her thick hair, he places his hands gently on her shoulders and coaxes her around to face him so he can wash her front as well. Obligingly she turns around to face him, opening her eyes and intending to smile up at him and thank him but the words catch in her throat before she’s managed to utter them.

Instead of his face, her eyes are drawn to his chest, where a long, ragged scar scrapes across his ribs, finishing in an obviously deep thrust into the softer part of his abdomen where, experience tells her, it originated. She can’t stop herself from reaching out and brushing it with her fingers, her lips slightly open as she stares fixedly at it in horror, wondering how she had never noticed it before as she curled up beside him on the couch or in bed.

It feels wrong to her. It’s a part of him her fingers have never known, and they’ve traced that path down his chest so many times before that having this here feels as alien as if this were another person’s body she was touching, not Mike’s.

Snatching her hand back, suddenly fearful, she looks up at him again, finding him silently watching her exploration of this unknown with guarded eyes, “It doesn’t hurt, does it?” She asks him quickly, wondering if every time she’s settled down on top of him over the past few months, she’s been causing him a certain amount of pain.

Reading this fear in her eyes he quickly shakes his head, “No.” He says gently, taking her fingers between his own and giving them a little squeeze, at the same time drawing them away from the rough, knotted mark on his chest, “No, not anymore.”

“What happened?” She breathes faintly, gazing up at him, knowing that the wound this scar had originated from had been at the very least life-threatening, knowing that what she’s felt between her fingers might have taken him from her. The thought fills her with a sharp, tangent feeling of terror.

He shrugs, clearly not wanting to discuss this with her, and also very clearly not now and in the end he just informs her gruffly, “I was stupid and reckless. I thought that I could deal with something I couldn’t. I paid the price for it.” He adds, almost as an afterthought, “It messed me up for a little while.” 

“It looks as though it nearly killed you, Mike.” She squeaks back, unable to stop her voice from breaking on the last few words.

“It came close.” He shrugs, then gently grips her shoulder and says firmly, “But I’m okay now. It’s healed. It’s fine.” Sliding his fingers under her chin and tilting her head up to face him he says quietly, “You’ll get there too.”

After that she stands still, resolving to talk to him in more detail about this later when he might be more forthcoming with her, and lets him wash her front as well, sluicing the sweat from her skin and helping to relax her again. He succeeds in doing so and she finds her eyes closing again as his gentle hands move over her body, rubbing the tension from it as he goes.

Once he’s finished, she insists on commandeering the shower gel and doing the same for him. Her hands catch slightly on the scar on his chest and she can’t help glancing up and meeting his eyes again. As she finishes guiding him meekly into the shower’s jet to rinse him off, something that manages to bring a faint smile to her lips, she leans in and wraps her arms around him, resting her head on his chest and nestling in against him.

After a short moment, he lifts his arms and places them gently around her body too, holding her as close to him as he can, his fingers trailing through her wet hair, resting on the back of her head and cradling it to him.

They stand beneath the warm water, just holding one another, for a long time.

Stepping out first onto the bathmat he turns and offers her a hand to help guide her down onto the floor beside him. She seems much steadier and much more herself now but he still stays close to her and insists on taking down a towel from the rail on the wall and drying her himself, paying no attention whatsoever to the water soaking his own skin and making him shiver until she tugs the towel irritably out of his hands with a strength she definitely wouldn’t have been capable of an hour ago and grumbles at him, “Come here.” She orders flatly, “You’re dripping water all over my floor, Mike.”

Meekly, he wanders a little closer and allows her, now almost completely dry, to give him the same treatment he just gave her, actually giggling at one point when she can’t reach his hair and ends up simply throwing the towel over him so that it covers his whole head and shoulders, leaving him to fumble with it himself.

Once he emerges, he hastily tugs on his clothes before wrapping her firmly in a towel to keep her warm and instructing her to stay put for a moment while he finds her something fresh to wear, instead of coaxing her back into her sweat-dampened, dishevelled sleep wear.

He helps her dress into the soft, fresh clothes he’s brought her and by the time he’s finished, a little colour has returned to her cheeks and there’s a soft smile on her lips again that makes him happy to see.

Stubbornly, he insists after she’s dried and dressed that she goes back to bed for a few hours to sleep and firmly accompanies her back to the bedroom, settling her down and curling up around her, wanting to be close to her, a feeling that she seems to share because she presses back against him as much as she can, losing herself in him as he envelopes her.

They’ve only been lying together for a few minutes before she drops off in his arms. It takes him much longer to fall asleep again, but eventually he can’t keep his eyes open any longer and finds himself sucked back into oblivion, his own exhaustion finally claiming him.

When he wakes up again, he discovers that she’s still fast asleep and pressed up close to him. If anything they’ve only moved closer to one another as they slept and she’s turned around so that her face is pressed in flat against his chest. Absently, he softly runs his fingers through her hair, listening to the measured sound of her slow, deep breathing and feeling her move every now and then. But she’s clearly not in distress and he simply lies and holds her, drawing the sheet up a little more around them and watches her slumber.

When she finally comes to she seems at first a little surprised to realise that she’s pressed up so much against him but it only takes her a second to decide she’s entirely amenable to this arrangement and snuggle back down into him, grumbling feebly when he very gently prods at her sides to stop her drifting off again and keep her awake, half-heartedly batting at his hands, missing because she can’t see them due to the fact she’s still buried in his chest.

He manages to coax her up and out of bed with the promise of some breakfast and she agrees only if he promises to make her pancakes. He does, and at that point she all but bounds delightedly out of bed, suddenly so awake he begins to suspect her reluctance to get out of it was feigned in order to wheedle some pancakes out of him.

Studying her as he chivvies her into the kitchen and sits her down firmly on one of the ghastly yellow stools she seems to like so much, refusing to let her get up to help him today, he decides that she looks much better for having gotten another few hours of sleep. There’s more colour about her cheeks and she’s moving much more steadily as she watches him with bright, eager eyes while he works around making breakfast. 

He presents her with an even larger stack than usual and she munches happily through them. Once he’s joined her with his own, much smaller, breakfast, she eyes him keenly and is clearly waiting for him to settle before she says something to him.

“What’s up?” He asks finally, putting down his fork and giving her his full attention as she continues to eye him as though trying to decide something. 

Being embarrassed about being caught red handed is never something she’s had any trouble with in the past and, as expected, once given a little nudge, jumps bluntly straight to the point, “I want to know what happened to you.” That gets his attention and he focuses more firmly on her, “The scar on your chest. I want to know.”

He grimaces slightly, sighing and rubbing his face with his hands, massaging his eyes, not sure what to say. After the way she had reacted upon discovering the gruesome reminder of what he had been through he had expected more questions, had expected to be asked but that didn’t mean he had any ready answers for her. He’s not sure if he can talk about it with her, and he’s definitely not sure if he wants to. The last thing he wants right now, especially after her vicious nightmares, is to upset her or stress her out again.

But the way she’s looking at him, the hard, steely note in her gaze he knows so well, he knows with a resigned certainty that she’s not giving him a choice here.

Sighing deeply, he leans back in his chair and considers how best to answer, finally he says, “I was an idiot.”

This is just greeted with an unimpressed scowl, “I knew that.” She huffs at him, glaring pointedly, “Or else you would have been wearing your vest.”

This had been a familiar argument back in the days when they were married. Especially after he had been shot. He knew that she worried about him, and he understood her concerns but it had still been something that exasperated him whenever she had brought it up. Though he does have to concede that she has a point in this instance.

Taking a deep breath he says, “It wasn’t as simple as that. Things escalated in a way that no-one could have predicted or expected and I got involved.”

“You should have put your vest on _before_ you got involved.” She growls at him, her arms crossed flatly over her chest.

“There wasn’t time-“ He began.

“Then you should have made time.” She snaps back before he’s even started to respond to her, “You could have _died_ , Mike. That vest could have saved your life, or at the very least months of pain. You should have had it on.”

“Yeah, I should have.” He says quickly and loudly, “I did start all of this by saying I was an idiot didn’t I?” She just sits across the table from him glowering but she doesn’t interrupt him again and so he takes the opportunity to swiftly keep going, “A robbery turned into an armed hostage situation. The guy grabbed up a gun and started waving it around. I happened to be on the scene so I went in to calm things down.”

She looks ready to murder him herself as she says with cold, hard fury evident in every syllable, “You walked into a room with an armed maniac waving a gun around without your vest on?”

“C’mon Jules, you don’t know what it’s like. Things happen in split seconds when you’re in the field. The situation changed, I reacted to it. I didn’t have time to waste.” He says, shaking his head and knowing before he’s finished speaking that his words are not going to be well received.

“Making sure you’re safe isn’t a waste of time, Mike.” She says mulishly, her voice dropping slightly, her eyes boring in to his.

“No.” He admits just as quietly, “No, it’s not.”

Still glaring at him in reproach, she says, “What happened next?”

He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, grimacing slightly, “It seemed to go well. I got him calmed down, I thought I had the situation in hand, I even managed to get the gun off of him.”

“Then he turned around and gutted you like a fish.” She intones with her usual delicacy.

“Things did go a bit south. I still don’t know what made him snap but he did. And I’ve got the scar to prove it.” He says, trying to lightly shrug it all off, not wanting her to get upset again. 

“You must have been scared.” She whispers quietly, peering up at him.

“A little.” He admits gruffly, “Yeah, it, it messed me up a little bit afterwards.” Taking a deep breath, his tone suddenly becomes a lot more businesslike as he fixes her with a similar gaze she’s been using on him since he sat down and says, “I wanted to speak to you about that actually.”

“About what?” She asks, taking a sip of her coffee and blinking up at him in obvious puzzlement over the rim of her mug. 

“The nightmares.” He says softly, “The flashbacks, the sleeplessness...I think you should talk to someone.” He says firmly.

“I talk to you.” She replies at once without balking.

A faint smile ghosts across his lips at that and he inclines his head in acceptance then says, “I know...But I think you should talk to, well you know, a professional, a counsellor.”

That takes her aback and surprises her and she stares at him before she squints suspiciously and reminds him, as though he’s forgotten. “But you hate therapists.”

“I’m not the world’s biggest fan, no.” He admits cagily, then, taking a breath and looking straight into her eyes he says quietly, “But the department made me see one while I was recovering from the accident. Protocol after something like that, I had to complete a certain number of sessions before I could come back to work.” he says carefully, “Yeah I had to do it, and I wasn’t exactly ecstatic about that. But it helped.” The baldness of that statement catches her attention and she stares up at him, “I think it would help you too.”

She grips her mug and lowers her eyes, staring into the depths of her coffee and speaking to it when she mumbles, “I don’t know, Mike.”

“I know.” He says quietly, reaching across the table and peeling one of her hands away from her coffee mug to hold it in his instead, “And I’m not saying that you have to do it.” He allows himself a pause for a wry smile at the thought and adds, “I’d never try and tell you that you have to do anything. But I think it would help you. You’ve been through so much in such a short space of time and it might help to have someone to help you go through it all.” He says in a bit of a rush, then adds, a little more slowly, with a soft squeeze of her hand, “Just...Think about it okay? For me. Please.”

She nods and offers him a faint little smile and promises that she will, squeezing his hand back.

****

 

 


	22. Demonstrations

_ Part 22 –Demonstrations _

A few weeks after her nightmare, she comes home to find her apartment smelling excellent and follows her nose into the kitchen where she finds Mike baking, flour covering his hands and an apron covering his clothes, she’s amused to find.

She wanders over to join him and plucks lightly at it, smiling and informing him, “Suits you.” He smiles faintly at the compliment and she hops up on the counter beside him and peers into his bowl, “What are you making?” She asks.

“Cupcakes.” Is the dignified answer she receives.

She grins at him then announces, “I want to help.”

He raises an eyebrow at that but then nods, “Okay then.” Beckoning her over to him he hands her a large plastic mixing bowl she hadn’t known until this very moment that she owned then says, “Here, mix this together for me, I’ll grease the cases.”

Balancing the bowl in the crook of her arm she accepts the spoon he offers her and begins obediently mixing together the ingredients in the bowl as instructed. Within a minute or so, he’s stopped her, shaking his head and telling her she’s doing it wrong.

“How can I stir things together wrongly?” She demands of him in utter bemusement.

“Because you’re stirring them together in the first place.” He tells her bluntly. When the only response he gets to that is an impatient scowl he sighs and abandons his little paper cases ,standing behind her instead, putting his arms around her, then withdrawing slightly and double-checking, “You mind?”

“No, please, chef Mike, show me the way.” She grumbles at him.

He playfully pokes her in the side before he resumes placing his arms around her, standing in so close that she can feel him breathing, then he places his larger hand over her smaller one on the spoon and shows her with big, exaggerated motions how it should be done. “You have to fold things in.” He explains in a low growl in her ear, “That gets more air into the mix, it’ll make it taste better.”

She nods, and, though the process is a simple one and she understands both the logic and the motion of it by now, allows him to continue standing close behind her and moving her hands in the right rhythm and he seems in no great hurry to stop either. It reminds her of being back in Seattle with him, when they were married, she feels a similar intimacy here as she did back then. She still doesn’t know what to make of it, or process it, but there’s still something, well, _nice_ about the familiarity of this.

_She starts slightly when she feels warm hands wrapping gently around her waist and clasping in front of her stomach before she realises that it’s him. Smiling and tilting her head slightly as he leans down and gently kisses her neck, sucking gently at the skin until she moans softly in welcome._

_“Hey.” She murmurs thickly, her eyes closing._

_“Hey sweetheart.” He growls gently back, reaching around and kissing her lips this time, making no more whatsoever to draw away from her, “You alright?”_

_“I am now.” She tells him with a soft smile, turning around and reaching up slightly, indicating what she wants and he answers at once, leaning down once more and brushing his lips against hers. “You’re late.” She says, but not crossly, nestling back against him and letting him rest his chin on top of her head, enveloping her with his body, “You get caught up on a case?”_

_“Yeah.” He sighs, in a tone that makes her glance over her shoulder at him again, concern prickling in her stomach, “It was pretty rough.”_

_She nuzzles lightly against him and kisses him once more, “Are you sure you’re alright?” She repeats, concerned._

_“I am now.” He replies with a soft smile and yet another kiss, deeper and longer this time._

Once the cupcake batter is well and truly mixed by them both, she helps him grease the rest of the cases then scoop the batter out into them and put them in the oven before they wander off to find somewhere to sit while they wait for them to bake.

As they settle down together, him tugging off his apron, much to her disappointment, then he asks, much more seriously, “You were at a session this afternoon?”

She nods, “Yeah, I was.”

He pauses a beat to see if she’s going to supply any more information on her own, then, when she doesn’t, he says quietly, “How are they going? Have they helped?”

“Good.” She says, nodding and smiling, “They’re going good and yeah, I, I think they have helped. A lot. It’s been tough talking about it all in detail, she’s pushing me hard on some of it. But it’s definitely helping and making things easier to deal with and string together and understand.” After a moment she smiles then leans over and unexpectedly kisses his cheek, “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asks, absently touching the place where she had kissed him, feeling strangely dazed, his stomach fluttering.

“For suggesting that I go in the first place.” She says, as though this should have been obvious, and in hindsight it probably should have been, “It was a good call.”

He smiles and lightly pats her hand with his own, nodding, “You’re welcome.”

****

 


	23. Remote Battles

_ Part 23 –Remote Battles  _

Her legs are resting in his lap and he absently rubs her feet on orders as they both watch the TV opposite him, with her sprawled out on the sofa and him sitting up straight. This makes it considerably easier for him, when that show ends, to lean forward and snatch up the remote on the low coffee table in front of them and change the channel to watch something else.

This, predictably, makes herself swing up out of her idle horizontal position and scowl at him, “You can’t just change the channel without asking me.” She tartly snatches the remote from him and begins to change it back but before she can he interrupts her with a pitiful whine of complaint.

“C’mon, you’ve had it every other night.” He protests miserably, presenting her with his best puppy eyes to no avail, “Don’t I even get one turn to catch my favourite show?”

“No.” She replies bluntly, “It’s _my_ TV. I paid for it.” She reminds him firmly, in such a similar way to the time when, instead of offering some sort of apology for lodging a coffee mug in the monitor of his television, she had informed him instead that it was technically hers, that they both take a moment to smirk.

Then he goes on the offensive once more and protests further, “I’m your _guest_.” He informs her firmly.

“It’s _my_ house.” She pushes back in superior tones, “My roof, my rules, Mike.”

“But, but I’m staying here with you-“ He begins sounding crestfallen.

“Yes, Mike, that’s what ‘guest’ means.” She says tartly, “You’ve already tried that excuse.

“But I’ve been looking after you in such a wonderful way. I made you pancakes this morning. I made you dinner this evening.” He goes on with a hopeful plea in his tone.

“I was in a _coma_.” She reminds him savagely, widening her eyes as if to suggest that how could he try and usurp control of the television for an hour because of this. 

He seems to sag slightly in his seat as he sighs at her, “You can’t use that as an excuse every time you want something.” He huffs at her, “That’s the third time _today_.”

“I can and I will.” She says, and, just to prove this point, she flatly changes the channel.

A moment later she’s collapsed onto the couch, squealing hopelessly as he pounces and begins mercilessly tickling her while she gasps for breath and hugs the remote hard against her chest, refusing to relinquish it. Wriggling furiously away from him she squirms to the other end of the couch which he pursues her to, grinning as she gasps out feeble protests, still faintly giggling then squeals loudly again as he starts tickling her once more, by which point she’s flattened herself to the sofa on her stomach, the remote trapped between her body and the cushions and impossible for him to get to.

“C’mon, Jules.” He wheedles, still relentlessly tickling her.

“No...Mine...My TV...” She wheezes between loud peals of laughter, unable to catch her breath as he refuses to let up. “Mike!” She gasps, twisting and squirming round onto her back again, trying to push him away with her feet.

He grabs those and tickles them instead and reduces her to a laughing puddle on her couch, still feebly trying to kick out at him without any real conviction in her baseless flailing, “Mike, stop!” She manages to pant at him and he pauses for a moment.

“What’s that?” He smirks, cupping a hand to his ear in mocking confusion, “You want to surrender?”

“Never.” She gasps fiercely, staring up at him with over bright eyes.

She screams shrilly and immediately starts laughing again when he immediately resumes his punishment, at least until his hand slips out from under him and he drops down on top of her, only catching himself at the last moment when they’re pressed together.

The laughter is still filtering through her, a broad smile on her face as she looks up at him. The moment stretches out, he doesn’t move to push himself off of her and she doesn’t make any move to try and make him move either.

After a moment, she slowly starts to reach up towards him, tilting her head slightly, with every intention of pressing her lips to his and relieving the tension she’s felt building between them for the last few weeks.

But just as she’s about to commit and pull him in against her, he draws away, looking a little flushed and flustered, muttering constant apologises, “Sorry, I, I’m sorry. Are you alright?” He carefully helps her to sit back up again, both of them breathing a little harder than usual.

“It’s okay.” She says quickly, pushing her hair back from her face, “I’m fine.”

The atmosphere between them remains hot and charged and tense, in a way that both of them can feel, even as he straightens himself, clears his throat and says firmly, “You, you’re right, it’s your place, your TV, you should watch whatever you want.”

She studies him for a moment then quietly flips the channel back to his show and settles down again with her head on his shoulder to watch it with him.

****

 


	24. Storm You're Starting Now

_ Part 24 –Storm You’re Starting _

He glances sideways at her as she taps her foot restlessly against the floor, squirming into the fourth new position on the sofa in the last ten minutes. Cautiously, he leans over and puts a gentle hand on her shoulder, making her jump out of her reverie and turn her attention to him instead.

“You okay?” He asks gently, studying her now that he can look at her properly.

She nods jerkily then mutters, “I just...Hate being stuck in here all the time. I want to get out.”

She’s been feeling claustrophobic and shut up here for days. Mike has been great, and wonderful company but she longs for more freedom than her condo can afford her. While her therapy sessions have been helpful, she can’t shake the fact that she was attacked in here and nearly killed, injured so badly that it landed her in a coma for months, something which she still hasn’t quite fully recovered from, though she’s finally stopped physiotherapy. There are some wounds that have been harder to heal then wasted muscles though and they’ve been taking their toll on her the past few days.

She expects Mike to tell her she just has to be patient, or to nod in understanding then suggest that they put on one of her favourite TV shows or films to try and distract her. Instead, he wordlessly stands up, walks to the door, collects both of their coats and the car keys from a bowl on a shelf nearby. He tosses her coat to her, which she catches on instinct then jerks his head for her to follow him, “C’mon.” He says quietly, eyeing her steadily.

Bemused, she stands up, shrugging on her coat and pads obediently over to him where he nudges her shoes towards her, having put his own on as she was wandering over to him.

“Where are we going?” She asks, raising her eyebrows at this impulsiveness of this decision, which isn’t something she generally associates with Mike under normal circumstances.

He just smiles at her, “For a drive.” He explains, giving her no new information whatsoever.

Still, she decides to trust him, and a drive to nowhere in particular might be exactly what she needs right now. Returning the smile, she’s the first to pull the door open and step out into the corridor beyond, waiting for Mike to lock the door and come after her, which he does.

Side by side, they wander through her apartment building and down into the car park below the complex where they find Lola. She settles herself without complaint into the passenger seat while he takes the driver’s position, slotting the keys into the ignition and starting the car up. She’s too distracted to enjoy a drive just now and too twitchy and restless to trust her judgement. Being driven to wherever Mike has decided is going to help with the way she’s feeling seems like a nice compromise to her predicament.

They drive in silence for twenty minutes to the very edge of the city but he doesn’t stop even there. She’s waited patiently the whole time to see where he’s going to take them, expecting him at several times to turn into a favourite restaurant or maybe even a casino but he just drives solidly and purposefully further and further right to the very fringes of the city and then beyond.

“Are you lost?” She demands with a raised eyebrow as they officially leave Las Vegas and head out into the wilderness, “You can tell me if you are, I won’t judge you.”

He chuckles lightly at that and shakes his head, “No, Jules, I’m not lost.” He replies firmly, leaning back in his seat as the road opens up before them.

“Then where are you taking us?” She demands, utterly bewildered, “There’s nothing out here but desert.”

“I know.” He says, turning to her at last, “We’re going somewhere quiet.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that so she says nothing at all, pondering it, her brow furrowed. The air out of the city is clean and cool and there’s something refreshing out it. As they drive she closes her eyes and sinks back, breathing deeply.

Mike drives for almost another hour, taking them up a rough gravel track until they find themselves on a small rise from which they can see the small beads of light that make up the city sprawled out below them in the distance. As promised, the spot he’s found is almost silent once he’s killed the car’s engine. But it’s peaceful as opposed to threatening.

“How did you know about this place?” She asks, turning to him as she hears the click of him unfastening his seatbelt.

He shrugs, looking suddenly self-conscious, “I came out here a couple of times when I was visiting you before...You know, when you were, well, still in your coma.” He says and she finds herself leaning over and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

 Even now, months after she’s woken up, he’s still reluctant to mention it.

Taking a deep breath, he clears his throat and continues, “Vegas is...A lot of things. Quiet’s not one of them. It never seems to sleep. It’s exhausting. I wanted a little peace, some space to breathe, time to think...I ended up out here.”

“It’s beautiful.” She murmurs quietly, looking around them.

A soft smile brushes his lips, “I thought you’d like it.” He murmurs to her, looking a little pleased that she seems to.

Getting out of the car, he walks around to the front and settles himself on the hood and, without really thinking about it, she mirrors him and settles herself beside him. In the quiet she can hear the sound of him breathing beside her as he sinks back, looking up. She leans back and follows his gaze and a soft smile spreads across her face at what greets her above. What seems to be limitless darkness unfolds above them, but now, away from the glaring neon lights of Vegas, she can see the ocean of stars that are scattered haphazardly above them.

“Do you know what any of the constellations are called anymore?” He asks, tilting his head slightly to glance down at her.

 A wry smile tugs across her lips and she grins, rather guiltily, up at him, “I remember you tried to teach me them.” She says, trying to deflect the question but answering it with the expected ‘no’ by doing so.

He chuckles lightly at that and nods, “Yeah, and I remember when you couldn’t remember them you just made some up of your own.”

She laughs too then announces stoutly that, “My names were much better.”

“Of course they were.” He says lightly, without a trace of sarcasm in his amused voice. Laughing again, it takes him another few attempts to say haltingly, “Do you remember that date we went on? I surprised you, made up some food and hired a boat and said we were going to spend the day just the two of us out on the water under the stars. I thought it was going to be so romantic, something we’d remember together when we were old.”

She smiles too, remembering, her eyes dancing as they reflect the stars above, “Yeah and I was seasick.”

“And you were seasick.” He repeats resignedly, shaking his head, “But not only that you refused to admit that you were seasick until we were practically in the middle of the damn ocean and there was nothing I could do about it.”

“I didn’t want to spoil your picnic. You’d worked so hard setting it all up.” She reminds him, still smiling.

“Yeah and throwing up all over it didn’t ruin it at all.” He says, turning to her and unable to stop himself laughing at the memory of it all now.

“You panicked, had to get us back as quickly as you could.” She says, picking up the thread of the story where he had left it, still grinning, “That was one of the first dates we went on when we were starting out.” She recalls, leaning back onto the car, staring up at her again as she speaks, “I was so sure that I’d blown it all, that you weren’t going to want anything more to do with me after that, and that would be the last date we ever went on.”

She turns to look him straight in the eyes, reaching over and absently twining their fingers together as she says warmly, “But you were great. You stayed with me all night to look after me, even though it only took about half an hour being on dry land again to sort me out. I kept trying to apologise for ruining your picnic. You just said that you’d make up another one for the next day that we’d take the beach and I could make it up to you.”

“I think that next day was exactly what I wanted it to be. The perfect picturesque picnic.” He says, smiling at her and shaking his head as he says, “That we were going to remember to our dying day with fond memories...And I can barely remember any of it.”

“But we both remember the boat.” She murmurs softly.

He nods again and echoes quietly, “We both remember the boat.” He pauses, his voice a little stronger when he speaks, “You can’t remember any of your constellations though. I would have thought you’d have been good at that.”

“Why?” She demands, sitting up a little straighter.

“Well you’re blood spatter analyst. Blood drops, stars, what’s the difference?” He demands airily, widening his eyes at her expectantly.

She shoves him playfully and makes him sway slightly to the side, chuckling faintly still as he rights himself.

“I thought I’d forgotten that.” She murmurs quietly, sobering him up at once with her next words, “There were so many good times between us that I thought I didn’t remember anymore.”

“Well,” He says quietly, “There were a lot of things we both probably chose to forget towards the end.”

She stares at him, blinking in surprise. All the times they’d seen each other since their divorce, her first journey up to Seattle with the Cooley case, bumping into each other again when she had come back for the Gig Harbour investigation, and all the months they’ve spent together in the wake of her recovery, they’ve never brought up their divorce or their past until now.

Unsure of quite how to react to this unexpected foray into hitherto uncharted territory she just softly and unhelpfully mumbles, “Yeah...” Then she pauses again, screwing up her face and gazing up at the stars above them, trying to decide what to say, “We had a lot of good times though, when we were together, didn’t we?”

“We did.” He agrees softly, venturing even deeper into this unknown world as he finds himself saying, “You made me happier than I’d been in a long time...And when you left...That was hard.”

“For me too.” She says quietly, glancing up at him, “When we split up...I had forgotten the way that you made me feel, how happy you made me, how much I loved you...All I could see was how I angry I was with you, with everything. That didn’t leave room for anything else.”

“Hey.” He murmurs softly, “You had a right to be angry with everything, to be angry with me. I wasn’t there for you enough. I know that. And walking away I...”He lets out a hollow little laugh, “It’s going to sound stupid but I...I just wanted you to be happy, deep down. And I knew that I wasn’t making you happy anymore. I was making you miserable. We were making each other miserable. I knew...I knew it had to stop, that something had to give but....When you left, when it was all over...I just...”

“I know.” She says quietly, squeezing his hand and looking up into his eyes, “I know. I felt the same.”

She feels the moment stretch and extend between them until it fills everything, until it seems as though there’s nothing left in the world, nothing real in the world except his deep, intense blue eyes that are looking at her as though he understands everything about her. And maybe he does.

She makes a decision on the spot, the way she’s been feeling, for months truly, but that’s been overwhelming in the past few weeks, she wants to tell him, she wants him to know, she wants to explain it all to him, because she knows no, more so than she’s known at any other point before, that he’ll understand, even if he doesn’t exactly feel the same way.

“Mike, can I, can I talk to you about something?” She asks quietly, not quite sure what she’s going to say now that she’s decided to actually say something to him.

“Of course.” He says at once, as she had known he would, “You can talk to me about whatever you want, Jules.” He tells her with a small, reassuring smile, “What’s on your mind?”

“Us.” She says simply, carefully judging his reaction to that one word.

His expression is hard to read but she catches a flicker of doubt and nervous anticipation catch in his eyes as he stares at her, asking carefully, “What about us?”

“I want you to be honest with me.” She says quietly, her eyes never leaving his, “About...About the way you feel about me.” She pauses a moment to let him process that then goes on slowly, “I know you, Mike. I have for years. So I know you better than most people, maybe better than anyone. And I think,” she pauses, hesitating then decides to throw caution to the winds, “I _know_ that you feel the same way that I do right now...”

She stops, watching him, waiting with baited breath for a reaction that seems unlikely ever to come until he says finally, “And how...How do you feel, Jules?” 

For a moment she feels a fleeting pang of irritation at him then she notices the way his hands are fumbling restlessly with one another and the uncertain desperation in his eyes and realises that he needs to hear her say it, needs her to put it into words so he can be sure.

“I don’t know, exactly.” She admits quietly, looking straight into his eyes still so there’s no way he can mistake or doubt her, “I’m confused about, about a lot of things right now.” She says softly, “My life has changed so much since the coma, _because_ of the coma and it’s...It’s been a lot to deal with.” She pauses, swallowing, and nodding gratefully as he reaches out and starts gently rubbing her back, “I just know that...I know that I feel so thankful that you’ve come back into my life. These past few months have been hard but they would have been impossible without you.”

“It was, it’s been nothing, Jules.” He says quietly, waving away her words as firmly as he can.

“No.” She says, even more certainly, “No it’s been something, Mike. And that’s the point. I don’t know what it is, or how long it will last, or if I even want it...But I do know that I feel _something_ for you.” She says quietly, seeing that reflected in his eyes as she goes on trying to explain with words she doesn’t have, “There’s something between us. Some sort of connection, some sort of attraction that I can’t shake off...That I don’t think I really want to. I want you with me, I want to be around you all the time. I want more of you. Because I feel some pull towards you that I can’t explain and that I’m getting tired of fighting...And I don’t think that I’m alone in feeling this way either.”

“No.” He breathes softly, his eyes finding hers again in the dark, “No, you’re not. I’ve...I’ve been having feelings for you for a little while now.” He admits quietly, shaking his head and smiling ruefully, flushing a little and being intensely grateful for the cover of the darkness that envelopes them that means she hopefully can’t see that, “I just didn’t know how to tell you. Or if I should tell you. You had so much on your plate dealing with the recovery, I didn’t want to add to it by adding in the fact that your ex-husband was...Was falling for you all over again.”

She smiles quietly at that and gives his hand a little squeeze, “I’ve missed you, Mike.” She says quietly, which makes him wrinkle up his brow in confusion, understandably, since they’ve spent every moment of the past few months almost exclusively in one another’s company, “I mean I’ve missed being with you.” She clarifies quietly, “The way we were before.”

He nods slowly at that and admits softly, “I’ve missed that too, Jules.” He pauses, taking a slow, slightly shaky breath before he goes on to say, “Being part of your life again, these past few months, since you got out of hospital, spending time with you again has felt...It’s felt right, it’s felt good. It made me realise how much I’ve been missing that. Been missing _you_ ever since we separated. And maybe that’s crazy...”He mumbles, shaking his head and glancing up at her as he says wryly, “I don’t really think you’re supposed to have feelings for your ex and miss them the way that I still miss you all these years on...But I can’t help it.” He admits, shaking his head with another guarded little smile, “There’s just something about you that I could never escape from...That I could never want to. That would always pull me back in whatever I tried to do.”

“Yeah.” She murmurs softly, catching his eye again and letting herself smile, “I think I know a little bit about what that’s like.” Unconsciously, she’s been moving a little closer and a little closer to him as they’ve talked, “It feels right with you.” She says softly, “It feels good with you.” Pausing a moment, she bites her lip, realising that she’s leaning in to him, almost without noticing, and that he’s mirroring her on the same instinct, “I don’t know where this is going to go, or what’s going to happen, or why any of this is happening.” She breathes softly against his skin, so close now that his own breath stirs gently at her hair, “But I know that I want this. I know that I want you.”

“I want it too.” He whispers against her lips, “I want you, too.”

And then he’s kissing her. Or she’s kissing him. But however it happens and whoever finally makes it happen, her lips are against his. It’s so cautious to begin with, despite what’s just passed between them, what they’ve just admitted to one another, they’re both tentative, feeling each other out, reminding each other of what this is like.

Then he reaches up and slides his hand behind her neck, his fingers tangling through her hair, pulling on it slightly and introducing a new level of tension to the kiss and she gasps faintly against him then slides the last few inches forwards until she’s all but straddling him, pressing him back down against the car, their bodies pressed flush against each other, heat radiating between them.

Instinct takes over a moment later and she finds her lips parting slightly for his tongue, groaning faintly when he slides it slowly into her mouth and she tangles her own fingers into his hair, pressing in even closer to him. He tastes the way she remembers, rough and sweet and safe, familiar even after all this time and she knows in that instant that she made the right decision, that this is what she was supposed to do.

One hand presses against the small of her back, a strong arm curling tightly about her hips and holding her close to him as she deepens the kiss, whining faintly in the back of her throat, her eyes closed, her whole being fixed on him as the world and everything in it contracts down to this one, fleeting moment with him that she wants to last for however long she has left in this world.

All she wants is him. And even though she’s kissing him, wrapped in his arms, it’s still not enough, she wants more, she wants everything he has, everything he is and he wants the same from her. There was always a dangerous volatility to them and she can feel it again now. It was the thing that stopped this from ever getting boring, from ever fading into nothingness.

They were too much for that, too untamed for that, a raging ocean brought into contact with a howling gale would only ever create a hurricane, a match struck against gasoline would never fail to produce wildfire and that was everything that they were. There was always the somehow thrilling potential that they would destroy everything they had when they joined, that they would burn up until they had both been consumed but the way it felt when they touched was too much ever to consider what might happen afterwards.

The way he makes her feel right now, the way she feels in his arms, the way she feels as she kisses him is unlike anything she’s felt with anyone else she’s been with since she left him. It’s as though she’s been living underwater for all this time and as her lips met his, it’s the first time she’s truly breathed, the first time she’s truly felt alive.

Every sense feels sharpened and heightened, every feeling pitched as such a volume that she can barely stand it, until it seems impossible that her body will be able to contain it anymore. But she has to. She needs it. Even if it tears her apart from the inside out, even if it rips along every stitched up seam, she has to have it, knows it will be worth it.

When at last they break apart, both panting, his arms around her, cradling her close to him and steadying her she finds his eyes again and sees her own smile mirrored on his lips. Then she leans in to kiss him once more.

****

 


	25. Date Night

_ Part 25 – Date Night _

Checking herself in the mirror once more she applies another coat of lipstick and steps back a little to take in her dress and the way it shapes itself to her figure. Straightening it out, she spends a few moments smoothing out all of the creases until she’s satisfied with it. It’s one of her favourites, and one of his favourites too come to think on it, knee-length, a deep blood red, with a tight clinging fabric that accentuates every curve and contour of her body.

Leaning forwards, she finds earrings sand carefully puts them in then picks up a matching red necklace and fastens it carefully in place, tilting back and forth slightly, letting it catch the light and admiring the effect of it against her pale skin.

Nervous excitement twists in the pit of her stomach as she double checks the elegant bun she’s pinned her hair up in at the back of her head, wanting to look perfect for tonight. Come to think on it now, she can’t remember the last time she went out on a proper date with someone. She’s picked up guys in bars, and gone out looking for a good time, but the last time she went out on a formal dinner date, intending to end up with a romantic partner is beyond her.

And she realises that she is actually anxious about this. Despite the fact that she kissed the man she’s going to meet last night, and kept kissing him until well into the morning. And despite the fact that that man is Mike, whom she’s known for years now, who she was _married_ to for a good number of those years, who she’s been living with for months.

It’s stupid, it’s so stupid. He’s getting ready in the other room, this was just supposed to be a bit of a laugh for both of them, get her out of the house, give her an excuse to get all dressed up and give him the excuse to treat her like even more of a princess than he already does. But she wants it to go well. And of course it’s going to go well it’s _Mike,_ she’s been on countless dates with him, they know each other so well, she trusts him more than almost anyone else in her life, it’s going to be fine, it’s going to be great, just what she needs.

He had suggested it the other night, while they were twined together in bed after getting back from their little drive and once they had managed to stop kissing each other long enough for him to get the words out and had softly murmured that they should make things official between them, if that was what she wanted? She had insisted that she did, and proved that point with another few kisses, after which, turning a shade of red she could see even in the semi-darkness of their bedroom, he should mumbled something about taking her out to dinner, both of them getting dressed up and, well, going out on a date. 

At first she had thought it was ridiculous for two people who had been previously been married to each other for five years to go on a date but the more she had thought about it the more she had realised that a part of her liked the idea. And it would get her out of the house and spending some quality time with him in which she could spoil him as much as he would inevitably spoil her and, after a second or two of hesitation she had squirmed forwards and kissed him again and told him quietly that that was a great idea. He had then put on a ridiculous voice and informed her that he’d come and pick her up at seven which had made her laugh and shove him playfully in the chest before she tipped forwards and kissed him yet again.

Now it seems like a stupid idea and she wonders if she should just go into the other room and tell him to cancel the reservation, she just wants to curl up in her pyjamas and eat takeout food with him. Which she’s sure he would agree to in a second of that was what she told him she wanted. But she also knows he’d be disappointed about this.

Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she tells herself to stop being so ridiculous, to step out that door and blow his mind and then enjoy a nice dinner date with him. They sit and eat dinner together all night every night, she’s sure she can manage that with him in a slightly different setting wearing a pretty dress.

He tugs irritably at his shirt, trying to straighten it out a bit more. Cycles between six or seven ties then decides not to bother and opens up a few of his top buttons instead. Then groans and wonders if she’s over thinking all of this as much as he is.

It had seemed like such a simple idea when he had suggested it to her the other night in the heat of the moment. He just wanted to get her out of the house for a little while, realising she was feeling a little claustrophobic being stuck in here all the time with no job to distract her. It would be nice, almost funny, the two of them dating when they had been married and divorced over the last ten years. But now he realises that he actually feels _nervous_ about what’s going to happen next.

Dragging his fingers through his hair he takes several deep breaths, trying to calm his rapidly pounding heart, then moves out to sit in the living room and try and at least look a little more relaxed and composed before she comes out too. 

Settling himself in a chair, he tries to idly flick through the TV channels to find something to distract him but as it happens, that proves largely fruitless. Fortunately however, he doesn’t have long to wait before her bedroom door opens quietly and he hears the soft click of heels as she walks out to greet him.

He finds himself pushing himself to his feet in something like a daze as he steps around behind the chair and walks towards her, drinking in every inch of her in that damn dress that’s always been no good for him, as well she knows. He stares at her, breathless for a long moment then realises she’s waiting for him to say something and hastily manages to gabble, a little hoarsely, “Wow.” A soft smile spreads across her face at that and some of the tension seems to go out of her, “Wow you look...Wow.”

She laughs a little at him, “You’ve said that.” She points out lightly, not looking as though she really minds the repetition in the slightest.

Stepping up to her he gently slips his arms around her waist and murmurs softly, “You look amazing. I’d almost forgotten how beautiful you were.”

“Well that’s why I had to remind you.” She says smiling and pressing in closer to him, feeling suddenly far more at ease out here in his arms than she had alone in front of the mirror in her room.

Stretching up on her toes she presses a soft kiss to his lips then gently links arms with him, “We should get going, if we’re going to make that dinner reservation.” She says quietly, swaying back and forth slightly, gripping onto his shirt to keep her balanced up on her toes. Nodding, he leans down and kisses her back then quietly leads her towards the door and escorts her out graciously to the car.

They drive through the city for a little while until he turns in to somewhere that makes her gasp in delighted recognition, being one of her favourite places in Vegas. Small, and usually looked over, but she just loves everything about it. Staring at him, she demands, “How did you know this was my favourite?”

He blushes slightly, rubbing his neck the way he does when he’s feeling a little flustered, he admits  that, “I called Sara, I asked her what you liked. She recommended this place.”

Leaning across she softly kisses his cheek and murmurs a quiet little, “Thanks, Mike,” in his ear.

They get out of the car and head inside and are settled at a table in the corner by a friendly waitress who hands them menus and tells them she’ll be back in a few minutes for their drinks order. She smiles and leans back in her chair and looks around the place with a growing fondness, looking across at him and squeezing his hand gently in gratitude for arranging this all for her.

He smiles then fishes his reading glasses out of his top pocket and perches them on his nose before he peers down the menu, trying to decide what he wants. But before he’s managed to look at more than two or three items, she’s snatched it off of him and snapped it shut, telling him decisively that she’s ordering for both of them, and he’s going to love what they bring him.

 He blinks at her for a few moments then meekly removes his glasses and stows them away in his breast pocket again, settling back in his chair and studying her across the candle between them.

“So,” he says after a long pause, “What’s your favourite colour?”

That breaks the slight tension between them and makes her laugh, then they settle in to a comfortable back and forth debate that lasts easily until the waitress returns and asks them if they’re ready to order. She beams up at her and orders a bottle of wine for them to share and then a large meze platter, also to share between the two of them which he nods approvingly at.

Over the next few hours and between the many different dishes that are brought out for them to try conversation flows as easily as the wine, which goes very well with what she’s ordered, and both of them feel utterly at ease with the whole situation and glad that they came out together.

“This is nice.” She says softly as she dips her spoon into the large bowl of cake and cream they’re sharing for dessert, not looking at it but smiling up at him instead.

“Yeah it is really delicious. Not enough chocolate for my taste though.” He says seriously, feigning ignorance which makes her irritably but playfully rap his knuckles with the back of her spoon, which also guarantees her the choice piece of cake he had been eyeing up as a bonus.

“I mean us, this.” She says after showing too much pleasure eating his bit of cake and grinning at him, then gesturing between them, again with her spoon.

He smiles and nods, finally managing to claim a piece of dessert for himself, “It has.” He agrees softly, reaching across the table and softly twining their fingers together, “It’s been great. And it just...It feels so right.”

“Like we never stopped doing it?” She supplies quietly when he falters and hesitates slightly.

The smile returns to his face and he nods, giving her hand a soft squeeze, “Yeah.” He murmurs quietly, “Exactly.”

Once they’ve finished up and paid the bill, he tugs her away from the car and they amble along the strip hand in hand. “Not quite the same as the waterfront back home is it?” He murmurs quietly as they wander past the front of one of the casinos.

She laughs lightly then shakes her head, “No, no...There are a lot of things that Vegas has and that Vegas does well...But it’s not Seattle.”

Something in her tone makes him look down and ask quietly, “Do you miss it?” She looks up at him with a faintly quizzical look and he clarifies quickly, “Seattle, I mean. Do you miss it?”

“A bit, yeah.” She admits, nodding and looking ahead of her again as they wend their way around a large crowd of jugglers, “A lot, sometimes. It was home for so long. It was hard to let go of. But I got used to Vegas.”

He snorts faintly at that, shaking his head, “I don’t think I could ever get used to living here permanently.”

She smiles and jostles lightly against him, “Feeling homesick?” She teases lightly, “You were born and raised in Seattle, you’ve never lived anywhere else. Of course it would take some time to get used to somewhere new.”

“Not this somewhere.” He admonishes stubbornly, “Although,” He adds, a light smirk playing across his lips as the hand on her waist dips a little lower, “There are compensations about living here that more than make up for what I’m missing from home.”

She smiles and stands on her toes to let him kiss her, both of them smiling into it.

They make a leisurely circuit around the Strip and then start wandering slowly back to the car which they settle in to, both of them ready to head home. She’s quiet and content as she leans back into her seat as he drives them back, one hand trailing lazily out of the window, watching the blur of lights as Vegas slides past them.

Once they arrive and park, he makes a ridiculous fuss about escorting her to her door which makes her smile and giggle faintly, shaking her head and shoving him ahead of her up the stairs, reminding him that they both live here. She decides to play along with his little ruse though, particularly when it results in him dipping down to give her a long, slow, deep goodnight kiss that seems to linger on her lips for a while after he’s drawn away.

Feeling a little breathless and flustered, she turns and, after fumbling with the keys for a moment, pushes into the apartment, glancing over her shoulder and saying in an overly flirty voice, “Do you want to come in for a cup of coffee?”

It’s his turn to laugh lightly before he follows her inside again, dropping another light kiss to her lips as he passes on the way in to the kitchen.

 

****


	26. Wildfire

_ Part 26 – Wildfire _

Kicking off her shoes she curls up on the sofa and glances up, reaching out as Mike walks over, carefully carrying two cups full of hot coffee, and hands one down to her before settling himself in the seat beside her.

Taking a small sip of hers she smiles and then nods her approval, at which point he leans back and tries some of his own, looking down at her with fond, gentle eyes that make her nestle in against him, clutching her hot mug between her hands. 

“I had fun tonight.” She tells him simply, unable to stop smiling every time she looks up at him.

Swallowing the large mouthful of coffee he inclines his head, a soft grin playing about his lips, then nods his agreement, “I did too.” He admits, then, after a faint huff of laughter escaping him, smile broadening and an almost sheepish expression crossing his face, he further confesses that, “I was kind of, well, _nervous_ before we left for dinner.”

She lets a little laugh escape her as well and nods, nudging gently against him as she says, “So was I.” They both share a small smile at that then she takes another drink of coffee and leans back, closing her eyes and considering the matter, “I just wanted everything to go well between us.” She says slowly, not entirely sure why she’s telling him this but sure that she can, and that she’ll likely find he had felt the same way, “I hadn’t been on a date, a proper date like that one, well...Since I was with you, I think.” She says, opening her eyes at the revelation and turning her head to the side to see his reaction.

He’s nodding slowly, thinking, lightly brushing his cheek and feeling the faint scruff of a five o’clock shadow there as he says carefully, brow furrowed, “No...Neither had I. I had a couple of little relationships but they rarely went any further than sex.” Swallowing, he considers things a moment later then says softly, “And it was you, you know?” He hesitates again, wondering how to phrase things, realising that doesn’t help much, “I was married to you, who knows how many dates we went on when we were together. That should have made things easier, I know you, I know what you like, I know how easy you are to talk to, but it didn’t.”

“I felt the same way.” She says, shifting slightly on the chair so that she can face him properly, her feet tucked up under her, her dress bunching up slightly, “And I couldn’t figure out _why_.”

Leaning forwards he absently brushes a lock of thick hair behind her ear and murmurs softly, “I think that...Because it was you, because I knew how good it could be, I wanted it to live up to that. I wanted it to be special, I wanted it to be perfect for you. There was more at stake for a first date with you because it wasn’t just the potential for it to be something, something real, something good...It was that I knew we could have that, all of it, that I wanted that so badly, I guess that’s why.”

Feeling a warm smile stretch across her lips she leans in and surprises him by kissing him, forgetting her coffee for a moment and causing him to swoop in without breaking the kiss, ease it from her hands and place it on the little table beside them that he can reach before he returns to her and slides his fingers through her hair, leaning backwards and pulling her along with him. When they break apart, he’s lying back against the arm of the sofa and she’s pressed in beside him, her head on his chest, his fingers running gently through her hair, both of them looking entirely too pleased with themselves.

“It was perfect though.” She murmurs quietly, arching up so she can look into his eyes as she says that.

He nods slowly, “It was.”

Propping herself up on her forearms on his chest she stares into his eyes as both of then sense the palpable shift in the atmosphere between them as she does so. It becomes tauter and tenser, like storm clouds gathering and charging the air before the lightning eventually breaks and cleaves the heavens in two. Both of them react accordingly, their gazes linger, their touch sends static sparking between them and all he wants to do is kiss her and fall so far inside her he forgets what it ever was to exist as one being alone.

Finally, she says softly, “It felt right though.” He blinks steadily at her, his words caught briefly in her throat, creating a silence that she fills by clarifying hastily, “Being with you again. Being together again.” A quiet, almost shy smile has lit up her features and he can’t help himself returning it, “This feels right, it feels good.”

“Yeah.” He whispers hoarsely, his fingers running softly through her hair, “Yeah, it does.”

Biting her lip, she hesitates a moment then crawls forwards, laying her body against his and kisses him, differently to the way she’s kissed him before, she kisses him in a way that leaves him in no doubt as to what she wants and when she wants it. She kisses him hard, drawing away and nipping gently at his bottom lip and feels him follow her on instinct, wanting, _needing_ more from her as he sits up.

Fluid as silk, she slides from the chair but reaches down and takes his hand in hers drawing him to his feet, still looking in his eyes and he rises to join her at once as she begins to walk slowly away from him, her hand still in his, clearly wanting him to follow her. Meekly, he lets her lead him steadily into the bedroom, their coffee cups abandoned and forgotten on the table behind them.

Once they’re inside she closes the door then backs him up against it, letting him stop only when his back hits the solid wood and jars the door firmly closed with a soft snapping sound. Moving forwards on bare feet, she stands on her toes and curls her hand around a thick bunch of his shirt where it opens near the collar, letting her get a firm grip that enables her to pull him down to her even as she stretches up as far as she can on the tips of her toes.

Their lips meet and he feels himself pull her closer, kiss her harder, tell her that he wants this, he wants this just as much as she does, that he’s here with her now. Reaching up he fumbles for a moment with the pin keeping her hair in place then eases it carefully out and casts it aside once it’s free of her curls which tumble out around his hand and he immediately winds his fingers through it, tugging slightly and making her gasp.

Breaking away for a fraction of a heartbeat she stares at up at him with all the intensity of a blazing inferno then whispers hotly in his ear, “I want you.” Then she slides her hand round behind his neck and pulls him back in to kiss him again to prove that statement with everything she has.

His hand slides quickly around her waist, round behind her back, cushioning her and helping lift her up a little, keeping her steady and making sure she doesn’t overbalance. Then she’s kissing him. She’s kissing him in a way that makes him sag against the door behind him for support, bracing her against him as she presses her tongue against his lips and they open for her almost without conscious thought.

They’re teetering on the edge between careful, practiced, familiar motions, knowing what feels good, what makes the other feel good, and falling in to that; and reacting on base instinct and base desire about what they want to happen next and the line keeps blurring as she keeps kissing him like that, well past the point that his lungs are burning and crying out for air but his lips keep refusing to part from hers for even a second to permit that.

He’s acutely aware of the way her body is pressed up against him and he’s sure that it’s deliberate the way that he can feel every inch of her against every inch of him, heat building up between them as she grinds so gently against him it’s almost imperceptible but with the way his senses are responding to her he notices every movement, every change in pressure, every slight shift in the way she’s pinning him back against the door.

His lips are soft and warm and shape themselves to her mouth perfectly, seeming to sense exactly what she wants and exactly what she needs from him and he meets that need each and every time, pushing him back down against the door and nestling in against him, whining faintly into the kiss and making him shudder against her.

She realises now that they’ve reached this point together how badly she’s been wanting this and for how long. Tension has been winding them both up to a higher and higher pitch for weeks now and now that they’ve both finally snapped she can feel the rush that’s pulsing through her system at the mere thought of having him again and she both wants to take it slow and savour every heartbeat that’s pounding through them both yet at the same time wants all of him now without wasting another second. 

Drawing away and panting against his chest a moment, feeling him do the same as they both gulp in air for a few seconds then their eyes meet once more and this time he initiates the kiss. It’s rough and hot and harder than he’s dared to kiss her in a long while and she feels herself instinctively responding, letting her lips part for his tongue, melting against him and surrendering entirely to him for just a moment, letting herself linger, letting herself savour, not pushing back just taking what he gives her and living in that moment that he creates.

Then she nudges him back a little, putting him in his place once more and her fingers start fumbling at the buttons of his shirt, groaning in frustration at some of the more stubborn ones. Her fingers start whispering against hot skin as she moves further and further down, exposing his chest then stomach. Pausing a moment, she lets the two halves of his shirt hang open and loose and presses herself in against him, her hands bracing against his body and his arms wrap around her, holding her in even harder, never allowing the tension between them to slacken even for a moment.

Reaching down between them, forcing her hands between their bodies, she starts tugging at his belt, opening it up and at the same time he starts easing the light shawl she has around her shoulders off, dropping it on the floor by his shirt. Then he’s forced to pause as she works free the buttons of his trousers and irritably tugs them down and without giving him a moment to catch his breath, tugs him back towards the bed.

When she shoves him forcefully in the chest he knows what she wants and sinks back obediently onto the mattress, holding out a hand to help her down after him. She takes it and uses it to pull herself forwards, crashing against him and making him gasp in her surprise at the force of the unexpected impact but he reacts to it almost at once, leaning backwards and taking her with him, absorbing most of it himself and cushioning her against it.

One hand wraps around her body and holds her in close for a moment before she shifts herself, pushing him down and keeping him there with one firm hand on his chest while she straightens herself, sitting up squarely. Breathing hard she drags the skirts of her dress up around her hips, freeing her from the tight material. Then she slides one leg down beside him then swings the other across his body, straddling him and settling down her hips braced against his, shifting slightly in a way that makes him groan and her smirk looking pleased with herself.

Leaning down as slowly as she can stand until her body is pressed flat against his she kisses him again, rough and hot and hard and begins reaching between them to tug off his underwear but she stops when he gently but firmly catches her wrist in his hand and draws it away, softly linking their fingers together instead.

When he responds to her kiss he doesn’t respond with her same fire and haste but makes it softer and slower and more intimate and tender than before. The hand not holding hers rests gently at the small of her back and then begins to trail, almost absently, up along her spine. He enjoys the way that her body shivers as his fingers lightly ghost between the valley of her shoulder blades and he smiles against her lips.

That’s the moment at which he feels the tension flood from her body and instead she melts against him, nodding her head and letting her own lips soften against his, letting him have his way as she gives in to him and lets him slow them and take as much time with her as he wants while he’s making her feel this way, as though they have all the time in the world, as though everything will stop and wait for them trapped in this moment, as though she could surface after a hundred years spent in his arms in this moment and find that everything has waited for them to catch up to it. He makes her feel calm and safe and loved and if he wants to linger in this she’s more than happy to let him.

Once his fingers reach her hair they slowly twine through it, tugging ever so gently, just enough to make her moan and grind her hips gently against his to let him know how that feels. She can feels his lips curve in another soft smile against hers and is sure he knows damn well what he’s doing to her right now.

A moment later he draws away and slides his lips down to her neck. Her protest catches in her throat and instead she finds herself closing her eyes and arching back her neck to allow him better access. Both of his hands are now resting on her hips and pulling her down against him, creating a new tension between them which he lets her just settle in to and get used to before he changes it again.

His lips are sucking gently at her skin and he seems to know exactly the places that make her breathe a little harder and heavier, that make her gasp and moan faintly, that make her shudder against him. Then one of his hands moves slowly up her side and finds the zip to her dress and begins to ease it down with torturous, agonizing slowness until she’s ready to grab it hand and jerk it down herself but between the feel of his fingers skimming so softly against her skin and the way he’s still kissing her neck, she’s hard pressed just to keep herself braced over him.

Finally, _finally_ , he reaches the base of the zip that finishes down below her waist and his hand settles there a moment as he draws away from her neck at last, leaving a series of soft, pale red marks where he’s been kissing her.

Glancing up at her and waiting until her eyes flutter open again and she  meets his eyes once more, he then eases her dress from her, teasing the loose straps from her shoulders and watching as the material flows from her, like fine silk flooding away from polished marble, leaving her almost naked above him as he tugs it away from her. Now all that separates him from her is a thin, delicate little pair of lace panties, which, with a soft smirk that reaches to his eyes and makes them flicker playfully, he gently slides his fingers in to.

A faint whimper bursts from her in spite of herself as his fingers expertly manage to make her melt against him, the hand she had braced against the headboard above them sliding down to his chest instead. Panting hard and trying to control herself even as she feels her muscles beginning to contract in response to him she lets her fingernails on both hands bite deeply into his chest making him hiss faintly, his fingers pressing even harder between her thighs, tugging away her underwear completely to give himself better access and that makes her gasp and shudder against him, her palms flat against his chest again, her eyes closed, her hair falling down over her face as she whispers his name in a hoarse, stolen breath.

Shifting slightly against her, his fingers still working between her legs, remembering just what she likes and just how to make her moan, he sits up and starts kissing her neck again, softly to begin with and then a little harder and a little harder until she’s wound her fingers through his hair and tugged hard to make him stop, drawing him away and holding his head gently against her chest as it heaves, her skin covered in a faint sheen of sweat.

“I want you.” She whispers again to him, leaning forwards and kissing him again, her lips pressing swiftly against his then moving along his jaw until she reaches his earlobe which she nips gently with her teeth, “I want you, Mike, please, please.” She whispers in his ear, her breath hot against his skin.

Reaching down she strips off the last of his clothes then grabs his wrists and pins them down on either side of his head to stop him tormenting her anymore. Looking up at him with deep, hungry eyes, he lets himself relax beneath her, opening up his hands in a gesture of submission. Nodding and looking pleased she presses a quick kiss to his lips in gratitude then pushes him firmly down into the mattress, her hand firmly pressing down in the middle of his chest to keep him there and also give her the leverage she needs to sit up once more.

Gazing down at him she can still make out his eyes in the dark, his pupils dilating as he stares up at her, never breaking eye contact with her as she lifts herself up slightly then sinks down onto him making them both moan faintly as she arches her back, her eyes closing, her body shuddering as her lungs take a few moments to remember how to breathe again, causing her to gasp slightly, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she settles on top of him.

Opening her eyes she looks down at him again, his eyes as closed as well, his head tilted back into the pillow behind him. Smiling faintly, breathing hard, she leans down and softly kisses him, feeling him hungrily respond to her, his hands rising up and resting on the tops of her thighs, gripping a little more tightly as she shifts her position ever so slightly on top of him.

Gazing up at her as he feels the weight of her body move off of his chest and centre above him once more he smiles as well and lets his hands glide tenderly from her thighs to hold her waist, his whole body tensing up as she starts to slowly move on top of him, rocking her hips back and forth and making him shiver, his eyes squeezing shut again, his fingers biting into her sides.

Leaning over a little, she places her palms flat against his chest to give herself a little leverage as she steadily starts to increase her pace, revelling in the faint gasps of pleasure she manages to get from him as his breathing becomes noticeably heavier and harsher in time with her own.

Finding his eyes in the dark she holds them as she feels her rhythm slip somewhat but his hands tighten on her hips and she lets him take charge for just a moment, guiding her back into a steady, comfortable pace with him.

Nodding jerkily he whispers faint praise that’s swallowed up in the darkness around them, lost amidst her breathy whispers of pleasure but not before she’s heard and responded to it in a way that makes him sink back into his pillows, gasping her name over and over again in a way that makes a bright thrill spark up her spine as though forked lightning is sparking through her bones at his command.

Letting a soft groan escape his lips in response to what she’s doing to him he eases his hands from her hips and finds hers, still planted firmly against his chest. Gently, he eases them up then twines their fingers together, looking up at her and giving her hands a gentle squeeze, locking his elbows in and giving her something to brace against as her strokes start becoming rougher and surer, making him gasp every time her hips crash against his. Nodding desperately as her hair falls over her face again she clings tightly onto his hands, faintly whining his name.

Her whole world has contracted down to this one moment with him, to the heat that rises between them, to the pleasure that’s radiating through her in soft pulses, to the feel of being with him again, of having him like this again and it feels good, it feels so good that she wonders for a fleeting moment why they ever stopped doing it. Then he shifts slightly beneath her and she cries out in pleasure, releasing his hands and grabbing the headboard behind him instead, holding herself over him and shivering.

She’s like wildfire, utterly untameable, volatile and unpredictable and more beautiful than can ever be expressed, raging and burning and destroying him, her skin scalding every time it brushes against his, her eyes blazing with an intensity that pins him in place and holds his gaze as she increases her pace again and makes them both gasp. His breath catches slightly in his lungs as he grips into her as tightly as he can, the only thing that feels real to him now, the only thing that makes sense, his only anchor that keeps him here with her the only place he ever wants to be again.

His eyes draw her in every time she meets them. As though answers to the deepest mysteries the world has to offer linger in their depths and she can’t help but stumble into them, get lost in them, become devoured by them. She knows every ghost that dwells beneath the surface of his skin, none of them scare her anymore and all she sees when she looks into his eyes is the man she fell in love with, the man she’s falling in love with all over again. She knows that she would be content to spend the rest of her days on this Earth getting lost in those eyes all over again.

With the dark enveloping her body as firmly as he is now, all he can see are the parts of her the light filtering in from the window beside them casts over her. Her silhouette is carved out against the glowing neon fantasies in the city beyond them and every curve and contour that makes up her is perfectly defined so far as he can see. She looks like a goddess carved of smooth, polished marble he can’t help but run his hands over, a faint sheen of sweat gleaming like gold on her skin when the light catches it the way it is now. And her eyes, her eyes burn like fallen stars above him, bright and blazing, drawing him helplessly in to her.

Their breathless moans mingle in a confused tangle in the air and block out everything else for both of them. Every time she hears him moan her body shudders around him in response, knowing how much it takes to coax a vocal response from him. Whenever he hears his name fall from her desperate lips he sinks a little further in to her and clings more tightly on to her, wanting nothing more than to hear her gasp like that again.

Dipping down to him, her hips still rocking hard against his, she presses herself down against him. Her scent fills his lungs as he deeply breathes her in, his eyes closing. There’s something familiar in it, sweet and delicate but with a faint, fiery kick that makes him sure that it’s her, yet it’s not something he can ever get enough of her, as though there’s something addictive in her skin, a drug in her touch, and just breathing her in is enough to get him high.

Softly, she kisses him, pressing her lips to his, pushing her tongue gently into his mouth. The taste that greets her lips is somehow familiar to her even after all the time they’ve spent apart. It’s strong and hot and intense and _him_ , and it fills her senses and takes over her for a moment as she kisses him a little harder, wanting more, needing more and feeling him wanting to give that to her. He’s addictive and intoxicating and she both loves and loathes the effect that he has on her; the effect that he’s always had on her.

There’s always been an intensity between them, there’s always been a chemistry. It’s always been volatile and uncontrollable and exciting because of that. Fire meets gasoline every time she’s with him and every time it sparks off a reaction that threatens to tear her apart and consume every inch of her but she never stop once she’s in his arms. On the contrary, all she ever wants is more.

Pushing herself back up she closes her eyes and focuses on her hips crashing against his hips in a steady, solid rhythm that’s winding them both up more and more in a way that’s making it harder and harder for them to breathe. Every soft thrust turns the screw another notch tighter and she can feel him tensing beneath her, his muscles contracting as he closes his eyes, trying to force a measure of control over himself.

But that’s feeling increasingly impossible with the things she’s doing to him. The sensation of her surrounding him and taking over him; the heat of her skin pulsing against him until he thinks he’s burning up with fever, are utterly consuming his senses.

His hands are tightly gripping her waist, guiding her movements again and making her move a little faster and a little harder against him. His fingernails are biting into her hips leaving two rows of deep, crescent-shaped little dents that mark her, like the faint red patches covering her neck and collar from his kisses, making her out to be his.

A moment later she gasps as his body collides hard with hers. He’s sat up against her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her in close, gently lifting his hips in sync with hers. Her body accepts him at once and melts in against him, her chest pressed flat against his, her arms closing around his torso too, nestling in against him.

Gasping she leans forwards, burrowing her face in the crook of his neck and biting faintly at the skin making him growl in her ear and surge up hard into her which only makes her cry out even louder than before.

“You good?” He whispers to her, his fingers tangling through her thick hair, caressing it and tugging slightly at it, “Jules?” He pants desperately, making himself slow and settle out until he gets an answer from her.

Drawing away from him she nods frantically, cupping his cheek in one hand and kissing him, still nodding to him as she pulls away again, “Yes.” She gasps faintly, “Yes, I’m good, I’m good, Mike.”

Leaning in to him she presses her forehead against his. Their breath mingles in the fraction of space that separates their lips in the heartbeats that they’re not pressed together. Their bodies silhouette against the cold city lights beyond, warm and safe nestled in so close together the way they are now and she feels good, she feels comfortable and so happy in his arms again.

Reaching down between them he finds her hand and interlaces their fingers, meeting her eyes and kissing her so tenderly and intimately as she squeezes his hand in response nodding and smiling to him in the dark, her eyes closed, their lips so close that she feels as though she can taste him even if she’s not kissing him.

They move together in unison, instinct driving them into a familiar and comfortable rhythm that pushes them further outside the limits of their own self-control, having them trust in one another as tension begins to swell between them, seeming to drain the room of air but she’s here, here with him and he’s right here with her.

 They’re so in-sync, so in tune with one another that she’s becoming less and less aware of herself and it starts to feel more and more and more as though they are, as though they’ve always ever been two halves of the same being and this is how they’re supposed to be, together. This is the way things should be, this is where they belong.

She’s sure of that, in a moment where, as pleasure burns through her body she isn’t even sure for a heartbeat that she knows her own name, she knows that she’s supposed to be here with him. She knows how good this feels, she knows how right this feels. She feels complete with him inside her this way, she feels whole and herself again for the first time since she woke up. And for the first time in years she feels alive.

She feels _alive_ , properly alive and in a way that makes her realise that no-one has made her feel this way since she left him. Everything has been slightly numbed and slightly muted but she had become so used to it all that she had just accepted it. Until now, until this moment with him again when she remembers what it’s like to really feel again. And she knows that she never wants to go back to the way things were before, she never wants to feel anything less than this again, she never wants to be with anyone else but him.

An intensity the like of which he’s never known before grips him when he looks in to her eyes again. This is how it should be, this is how it should always be. He shouldn’t have let her go the last time she came to Seattle, he should never have let her slip so easily through his fingers, leave him alone again. The way this is with her it’s never been this way with anyone else and he knows it never will be.

He had never thought of them as soul mates, not even the first time when they had fallen in love, gotten married, promised that they would stay together for the rest of their lives. He hadn’t really believed in the idea of soul mates and he still doesn’t.

The term is too neat for them, too perfect, to easy. They’re messy and difficult sometimes and there’s never been anything easy about their relationship but that’s why he loves it, why he loves her. Because it’s complicated and uneven and flawed and because he wants it anyway, he wants all of it, he wants it more than anything.

They might not be soul mates, they might never be. But he loves her as though they were; he needs her as though they were; he’d fight for her as though they were; he’d do whatever he had to do for her as though they were. And that’s enough for him. That’s more than enough for him. He doesn’t need fate to tell him to be with this woman, he doesn’t want fate to tell him to be with this woman. He wants to be with her because it doesn’t feel this way with anyone else, because it never has and he knows it never will. He wants to be with this woman because he loves her more than anything else in this world and because he’s never been as sure of anything in his life as he is of that fact right now.

He holds her as close to him as he can. Their lips only part now when they gasp uncontrollably in their pleasure that’s building closer and closer to breaking point with every second that they spend in this embrace, and then they’re captured again by the other, unable to bear parting for a moment longer than they have to.

When she pulls away and looks straight into his eyes, her arms wrapping around his shoulders her mouth falls open and her eyes flutter closed, her breath freezes in her throat and she gasps out his name as she hits her climax and he follows her almost at once, gasping hopelessly and burying his face in the crook of her neck, his lips mouthing wordlessly against her skin, finally managing to choke out her name as he returns a little to himself.

Afterwards, they cling on to one another for a long time, breathing hard, their eyes closed, just wanting to linger in this moment for as long as they can. At last, he slowly lies back against the mattress, keeping her pressed against him and guiding her down with him until he’s lying back on the bed and she’s lying on top of him, both of them still panting hard as they try and come down.

Absently, he runs his fingers through her dishevelled hair, softly kissing the top of her head as slow smiles start to spread across both of their faces as they lie in the dark holding one another. He draws a sheet up over their bodies when she starts to shiver and she leans down, softly rubbing noses with him and kisses him gently in thanks as she cuddles in against him, feeling more content and settled than she has in a long time.

*****

 


	27. Confessions

_ Part 27 –Confessions _

Smiling as she nestles in against him, still breathing hard, she feels her body shudder as his fingers trace their familiar path down her spine, ghosting so lightly across the surface of her skin that it always makes her arch against him like a cat, which he well knows.

Leaning down she softly kisses him and feels him respond to her, his fingers pausing as they reach the nape of her neck, where they gently circle for a few moments while they kiss. Afterwards she grabs a large chunk of sheet and eases herself off of him, making him whine in an exaggerated way at the sudden loss of heat and pressure that was coming from her body being on top of his.

Hushing him she hastily cuddles in against him and after a moment he turns on his side and wraps around her, encouraging her to do the same until they fit perfectly together. A soft smile brushes across her lips as she realises how achingly familiar this scenario is; curled up around each other, naked but for the thin sheet that wraps around them, his breath hot against her skin.

Reaching back she only has to fumble around for a few seconds before he understands what she wants and slides his fingers through hers, twining them together then giving them a little squeeze and a smile, arching up so he can lightly kiss her cheek, both of them happier than they’ve been in a long while.

She lets them lie this way for a while, her eyes closing, her head resting against the pillow beside her, letting him indulge in this before she wriggles gently out of his embrace then turns over onto her other side to face him before pressing in close again. He lets her shuffle around without a fuss and wraps his arms around her, drawing her in closer, once she’s settled.

Kissing him again, soft and slow and tender and reaches forwards and softly strokes his cheek with the tips of her fingers, a warm smile lighting across her face at the emotion she can see stirring in his eyes and that makes her move forwards and kiss him again.

When she draws away, she finds herself softly whispering, half as absently as though she had never meant to say it at all and half as deliberately as though she’s been planning this moment for weeks but all of it the truest thing she can think of in that moment, “I love you, Mike.” 

That seems to take him aback slightly and he just blinks at her for a moment, his lips parting slightly, clearly shocked by this sudden announcement, not sure what to say in return. Before he can get a handle on himself and think of how to respond however, she’s shifted forwards slightly, propping herself up, the sheet sliding from her body but she doesn’t even bother trying to tug it back into place, she’s too focused on him to care.

“I’m in love with you. I have been for a while now, I think.” She says quietly, stretching out her hand again and cupping his cheek in it, smiling when his hand dazedly finds its way free of the sheets and softly covers it. That makes her smile and it makes her go on, the things she’s been feeling and wanting to say for weeks now tumbling out of her, “I’ve missed this.” She whispers, gesturing around them at the intimacy of the situation, how comfortable she feels with him, how happy they both are, “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed being with you.”

He nods faintly, his eyes fixed on hers, wanting her to know that he understands, that he feels the same way, but he also senses that she has more to add that she’s struggling to get out so he just gives her hand a soft little squeeze and stays quiet for the moment so she can say what she needs to.

Gratitude wells up as she realises that he understands and that he’s giving her time to sort out her thoughts and she can’t help herself from swooping down and brushing her lips gently against his for a moment in thanks.

Then, taking a deep breath, she continues, “I feel good.” She says warmly, her eyes lighting up as they meet his once more, “I feel alive again, I feel so happy and comfortable with you. I trust you, I care about you and I know you care about me too. It feels right with you.” She says quietly, giving him a soft, impromptu little kiss that makes him blink slightly in surprise in a way that makes her giggle and burrow in to him.

Pausing for a moment, she takes a deep breath then whispers, much more seriously, “I’ve never felt like this with anyone else since you.” She says shaking her head, a wry little smile tugging at her lips, “I thought  I only wanted sex from guys anymore, I didn’t want a relationship it was too much and too hard and I just got hurt. But I still...I still needed a little human contact. And I got it. But it was never the same. They never made me feel the way that you make me feel.”

Pausing a moment, she swallows hard, lowering her eyes from his for the first time, her words being a little more uncertain and halting as she starts again, “Maybe I just couldn’t let anyone in after you. But it lasted years. I kept waiting to get over you, I kept screwing around to get over you. But even when I thought that I was I wasn’t...Not really. As soon as I saw you again in Seattle I...I went through so much on that case, _because_ of that case.”

A fond little smile softly lights her features as she strokes his cheek with her thumb and murmurs warmly, “And then after it all there you were. Still by my side, still waiting for me. And we fell into bed together again and I realised that you’d been feeling the same way. I knew that whatever had happened, whatever we’d been through...Somehow we were still on the same page. We still are.”

Shifting herself slightly against him, his fingers brushing absently up and down her back, as though her skin is canvas for some masterpiece he’s placing against her bones, she starts up again, trying to find her thread once more, feeling a little lost, but he’s quiet and patient and there’s no pressure in his touch or in the atmosphere around her. He’ll give her whatever time she needs now and won’t rush her into trying to find words she doesn’t quite have yet.

“Maybe the reason it was never that good with anyone else, maybe the reason that I could never be with anyone else the way that I had been with you was because a part of me could never completely let go of you.” A soft little laugh bursts from her lips at that and she shakes her head, “I lost my job. My career. My home. Everything when we divorced.”

She says, reaching up and pressing a finger to his lips to stop the apology she can feel coming, she doesn’t want him to pity her or try and say that he’s sorry for his part in all of it, she doesn’t want to make him feel bad about what happened, she’s just trying to explain how she feels to him, and it’s proving trickier than she had expected, to put all of this into words.

“I moved out of the city. I moved out of the _state_. I told myself that I’d never have to see you again. That that was it, we were done, I had cut you out, I had literally moved on...Emotionally...I don’t know if I ever did. Not really.” Pausing she smiles wryly then says, “I hated you when I saw you again in Seattle after those two years in Vegas, “I hated you because you still had an effect on me. I hated you because even though everything had changed, because I was so convinced I had let you go, that there was nothing between us anymore...There was. There was still that chemistry, that connection between us and I realised that I would never be able to stop that. It’s like...Like gravity. I could deny it as much as I wanted but it never stopped being there and it stopped affecting me.”

Her soft smile is mirrored on his lips and this time it’s him that leans in and kisses her again, making her close her eyes and sink in to him, finally surfacing a little more breathless than before with his fingers softly stroking her hair back behind her ear and she’s still smiling as she looks into his eyes.

“But I have you back now.” She murmurs with a quiet smile, rubbing noses with him, “I have you back and I don’t want to let you go again.” She says shaking her head, her tone suddenly becoming a lot more serious as she says soberly, “I don’t know what I would have done without you during my recovery. You’ve been amazing and I...Thank you.”

He blinks at that then moves forwards and gently kisses her lips, “You don’t have to thank me.” He growls gently to her.

“I do.” She says quietly but firmly, “I do, I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been here with me. If I’d had to do it all alone.”

“Hey.” He whispers, his fingers running softly through her hair, “You’re a survivor, Jules. You’d have made it without me, I know you would have.”

“Yeah.” She agrees, “But maybe not all in one piece. You’ve kept me together through all of this and I...” She smiles as she moves in and murmurs her next words against his lips an instant before she kisses him again, “And I love you.”

He nods in agreement, shifting in closer to her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her in as close to him as he can, folding her into his arms, wanting to keep her safe against him for the rest of times, wanting to live in this moment until there’s nothing left of either of them. There are too many thoughts inside his head, racing each other round and round until he’s dizzy and confused but she’s patient with him, she just lies in his arms, burrowed contentedly against his chest, waiting patiently for him to be ready to respond.

Finally, he says hoarsely, surprising her slightly because he’s never spoken to her about this before, or at least not as openly as he is now, “The Gig Harbour case, when it came back up, when you came back, that was...It was weird.”

 He settles for at last and she smiles and nods her head in agreement, “But you looked happy, you looked good, really good. Seeing you again because of the Cooley case was hard...Hard because I thought I’d never have to see you again, never have to be confronted by what I felt for you still...But it was hard because it was as though we’d both stepped back two years, to a point in our lives that I never wanted to relive again.”

She blinks up at him, wondering where all of this is going but letting him take his time, “You looked strained and upset and everything else you’d expect from someone being forced to go back through one of the worst periods of their life with a fine-toothed comb. But when I saw you again for Gig Harbour...You looked happy. That was all I wanted for you, I realised, was for you to be happy.”

“Even after I broke your heart?” She teases, sensing him stalling.

He smiles and lightly taps her on the nose in punishment, “Yeah. Even after you broke my heart.” He replies in the same tone, then his face darkens, so much and so suddenly that it shocks her and she nestles in closer to him, wrapping her arms around him and burrowing comfortingly in against his chest.

“When I...When I got that call from Russell all those months later,” he says, his voice so hoarse and low now that if they weren’t so close and it wasn’t so quiet she would have had to strain to hear him, “Telling me that you guys had caught him, that he was going to spend the rest of his life behind bars I...I knew that something was wrong, I could feel it. And then...Then he told me about you. He told me that that son of a bitch had gone after you, in your own home and attacked you, put you in the hospital. He told me that when they found you they couldn’t, they couldn’t find a pulse. The hospital said it was a miracle you were still alive. They said they expected you to die on the table.”

His voice breaks and she hugs him as hard as she can, wanting nothing more than to comfort him and reassure him. Taking his hand she gently unfolds his clenched fingers from the tight fist and presses his palm flat against her chest, looking up at him as his fingers contract slightly, feeling the steady beat of her heart between them. He nods then takes several deep, steadying breaths and makes himself press on.

“When he called again I was...I had told myself that you wouldn’t die, that you couldn’t. You were too tough, too strong, too damn stubborn. But as I answered that call I was...I was so sure that he was going to tell me that you were dead. He didn’t. And I just...I don’t know, something snapped, I, I needed to see you, I needed to be with you in case...Well, I just wanted to be there with you while you were going through this.”

Reaching down between them she takes his other hand and squeezes it firmly between her own as he takes a deep breath and shakes his head, “Whatever they told me, however bad it looked...You were in intensive care, had barely survived your surgery. You had slipped into a coma and they...They didn’t know if you were ever going to wake up but I just...I was so scared.” He whispers, meeting her eyes again for the first time since he started telling her all of this, “And I had this, blind, desperate faith in you. And I kept coming back for weeks and months because...Because after four years of being separated from you I realised that...That a part of me still needed you.”

She squeezes his hand again as tightly as she can, not sure what else to do, feeling utterly speechless as he takes another deep, shaky breath and goes on, seemingly unable to stop now he’s started all of this, like a dam finally bursting its banks, “I needed you to be okay. But every time I visited you were just...Nothing had changed. And no matter how much I kept telling myself you were just taking your time, healing properly, that you’d been through so much...I couldn’t help myself from wondering if the next time I showed up you wouldn’t be there anymore, or that Russell was going to call and...And tell me that you’d passed away and I...”

“Hey,” She whispers softly, pressing in against him until she’s practically lying on top of him again, stroking back his hair, “Hey, hey, I’m here.”

He gives her a strained little smile and nods and she realises how long he’s been bottling all of this up and what it must have done to him at the time. Capturing her fingers lightly between his he murmurs softly, “I know, I know I just...I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been. If you had died, I...” She presses in against him, closing her eyes and softly kissing his chest, squeezing his hand again and trying to reassure him, to remind him that she’s here and she’s not going anywhere.

With the air of trying to pull himself together he clears his throat and continues in a slightly steadier voice, “That...Nearly losing you there and _really_ losing you after the divorce and you came up to Seattle, that night we had that I just let you go again...It changed everything, it, it put everything into perspective. I realised what was important to me.” He says as he kisses her softly, “You.” He adds after a moment, kissing her again more deeply this time,

“Being with you again has felt good, it’s felt so good.” He says quietly, “It’s felt right again.” Stroking her hair back from her face he looks into her eyes as he admits softly, “I know how I feel now, after going through all of that. I know what I want. I know what I need, I know...” He breaks off a moment to gather himself and say sincerely, “I know that I love you too, Jules. More than anything. I love you, I love you.”

Leaning in she kisses him hard, “I love you too.” She whispers again and presses another kiss to his lips. He repeats the words back at her and kisses her again and she mirrors him. This goes on until she’s lying on top of him again, her arms around him, her head on his chest, his fingers softly stroking through her hair, both of them breathless with wide, content smiles on their faces.

“How long?” she whispers finally, looking up at him with wide, questioning eyes.

“How long what?” He asks softly, leaning forwards and kissing her nose making her blink in surprise not having expected it, which makes him laugh.

“How long have you known?” She asks, “How long have you, have you loved me?” 

He ponders this for a moment then kisses her and says playfully, “Twelve years.” Taking them all the way back to the first time they were dating in Seattle, even before they got married.

Giggling she lightly shoves at his chest and says half in amusement, half in irritation, “No! I’m serious. How long?”

Leaning back his head he thinks again, his fingers trailing absent-mindedly through her hair as he does so. Finally, he murmurs slowly, “I don’t...I don’t know. I think a part of me has always loved you. Through everything.” He says and she quietens and settles on his chest, her fingers lightly wandering over some of the scars she had seen heal, “But I think, I think I realised that I was in love you again, that I had fallen in love with you again a couple of months ago...After we brought you home and we started getting closer it just...I couldn’t shake it.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” She asks, blinking up at him in slight surprise at the length of time he kept this so quiet.

“You had enough to deal with.” He says flatly, shaking his head, “You were still going to physio, all those hospital appointments and then the counselling. I didn’t want to confuse you or upset you or put all of this on you until I knew where you stood. It didn’t seem fair.”

Shaking her head she leans up and kisses him, “You haven’t changed.” She whispers wryly.

“I’m always going to want to look after you, Jules.” He says seriously, “That’s something you’re just going to have to get used to.”

“I know you.” She murmurs quietly, “I know you are.”

Silence settles comfortably over them for a moment then he sits up a little, peering down at her, “What about you?” He asks, “When did you know that you loved me again?”

She considers that for a long moment and then she says evenly, “I think around the same time that you fell in love with me again.” She says, giggling, “We both kept it hidden for months. But I...I didn’t want to say anything in case you didn’t feel the same way and I made a fool of myself and made everything all awkward between us. It was all going so well and I loved having you with me. I didn’t want to do anything that might change that.”

“As if you could.” He growls lightly, leaning in for another kiss then he chuckles, “If we had just said something to each other all those months ago we could have been doing this properly all that time.”

“Mm, maybe.” She agrees, arching up against him, “But we know now.”

“We know now.” He echoes quietly, waiting for her to come the last few inches in to kiss him and she does.

“You’re never getting rid of me now, Mike Robinson.” She giggles softly in his ear.

Flipping them suddenly so that she’s on her back on the bed below him, laughing, he presses another kiss to her lips then growls playfully, “And I’m never going to want to.”

Centring himself over her he presses a soft kiss to her lips then beneath her jaw, then her neck, her collar, her chest, her breasts, her stomach, her navel, all the way down until his lips are feathering the insides of her thighs and she’s whispering praise and encouragement and tangling her fingers through his hair, leaning back against her pillows and closing her eyes, more than willing to lose herself in him for the rest of the night, and for all of the next day too, for as long as he’s here with her she wants to be with him.

****

 


	28. Calling

_ Part 28 –Calling _

A few weeks after their first date she wakes in bed sprawled on her stomach like a starfish in the middle of the mattress. Reaching out a hand she gropes feebly around for Mike, becoming increasingly irritated when she can’t find him and that he’s not making it any easier for her to locate them.

Blinking blearily she pushes her hair out of her face and squirms into a sitting position when she realises the bed is empty apart from herself and starts rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Staring around the room she realises he’s not here at all.

Yawning she wriggles out of bed, slides on a pair of underwear and, after a moment’s hesitation, picks up Mike’s shirt that had been discarded and abandoned thoughtlessly on the floor last night in their haste to undress one another, and shrugs it on over herself and buttons up a few buttons in the front without really paying any attention to what she’s doing, making them uneven. Then she pads into the open plan living space to see where he’s got to.

A slow smile spreads across her face as she wanders into the kitchen and finds him, apron on once more, humming quietly to himself over a number of pans on the stove, clearly making pancakes with eggs and bacon to surprise her.

Wandering up behind him she slides her hands around his waist and under his arms to lock in front of his stomachs, smiling as he jumps slightly in surprise, having been too lost in his own pancake scented world to realise she was there.

“Your instincts and reflexes are getting shot to pieces on this holiday, Captain.” She chides him quietly, mumbling the words into his back as she nestles in against him.

She feels a soft laugh huff out of him at that as he flips over a pancake shaking his head and brandishing a wooden spoon at her, “Mm, and who’s fault is that huh? The person I’m standing here slaving over a hot stove making pancakes for. Which is you.”

Smiling she steps back a little as he turns in her arms to face her, standing on her toes she lightly rubs noses with him and murmurs against his lips, “I’m not going to feel sorry for you.”

“No?” He teases, trying to look mildly wounded while gazing adoringly at her, brushing her hair back behind her ear.

“No.” She says simply, beaming up at him and pressing a long, tender kiss to his lips that seems to last an eternity and still makes her reluctant to draw away, “You’re being very well compensated for it.” She reminds him huskily. 

“Yes.” He breathes back to her, kissing her again, “Yes I am.”

Smiling at him and nestling against him she breathes softly, “Morning, Mike.”

“Morning.” He breathes back in response, smiling again as he plucks gently at the shirt she’s stolen, “That looks much better on you than it did on me.”

She grins broadly at that and steps back slightly to give him a better view and he smirks approvingly at that before hooking a hand around her waist and tugging her back towards him so that he can kiss her again and show her precisely what he thinks of her outfit choice, which had been a tradition between them when they were married.

A few minutes later, he’s shooed her good-naturedly towards the table, eventually resorting to tucking his hands under her and picking her up, holding her against him for a moment while she giggles and playfully whacks his shoulders with her fists until he deposits her gently on one of her horrible stools, softly kissing her forehead before he heads back to the kitchen then returns a moment later with two cups of coffee, one of which he sets down in front of her.

Then he returns to the kitchen and starts serving up their breakfast before bringing it to her and setting it down in front of her, smiling at the way her face lights up and she grabs eagerly at the knife and fork he offers her as well. As though she hasn’t seen food in years she stars tearing into the feast he’s prepared for her and he smiles at the look on her face as he settles himself opposite her and makes his own, much more leisurely way through breakfast.

“You’d think I starved you and deprived you of food, Jules.” He chuckles, shaking his head.

After swallowing her large gulp of coffee she just grins at him and reminds him that, “I have a lot of making up to do, I was in a coma for months. I’m just building up my strength again.” She informs him innocently.

He laughs and tells her that there’s more bacon in the pan if she wants it and, after a moment’s thought, forks over half of one of his pancakes as well and she beams at him, squeezing his hand affectionately and mumbling a small, thick, “I love you.” Through the mouthful of eggs she’s struggling to swallow.

As they get towards the end of breakfast they wander into the kitchen and she perches on the unit behind the sink, grabbing the dishes he passes her and drying them with the dish towel.

After a little while, as casually as if she’d just asked him to pour her some more coffee, or pass her another towel, “I want to move back to Seattle with you.”

He stares at her and nearly drops the coffee mug he’s absent-mindedly washing onto the floor because he’s gazing at her and not paying attention to what he’s doing, not sure if he heard her right. But the dull flush that’s creeping into her cheeks seems to tell him that he had.

“What?” He manages to wheeze hoarsely at last.

“I, I want to move back to Seattle with you, Mike.” She repeats, a faint, almost shy little smile, “When you have to go back in a couple of weeks for work. I want to come with you. I want to live with you again.”

She’s been thinking about this for the past few days, in which they’ve done nothing more taxing than lie in bed most of the day having tender, intimate, lazy sex. She can’t remember feeling as happy as she has been the last few weeks and the idea of being suddenly without Mike for days and sometimes weeks at a time while he lives in Seattle and she stays in Vegas, in this condo alone isn’t something that appeals to her in the slightest. And she knows that he’s going to miss her too.

They’ve reached that point in a relationship where they just want to spend every second of every hour of every day together and moments he’s not with her she feels something like homesickness wanting him to come back and be with her again at which point both of them became inseparable for the rest of the evening.

She hasn’t been completely alone since she came home from the hospital either and though the counselling sessions were a big help she still wasn’t looking forwards to stay here alone. Add to that the fact that Russell has decided to head to the FBI to work with them there’s becoming less and less in Vegas that makes her want to stay here. She’d enjoyed working with the night shift and she’ll miss Sara and Greg and the others but she’s been thinking about this for a long time and the conclusion that makes the most sense to her and makes her the happiest to think about is going back to Seattle to be with Mike.

And he seems a though he’s loved having her around as well. She gets the sense from the few things that he’s mentioned to her over the last few months that he’s been a little lonely back home in Seattle. She knows that while she was in the hospital, her fate so uncertain, that he’d have thrown himself into his work trying to keep himself busy and stop himself worrying about her. And she knows that that wouldn’t have worked for him and so in turn he’d have just done more and more work in an attempt to compensate to no avail.

“Are you, are you sure?” He whispers hoarsely, seeming to confirm some of her suspicions about him wanting her with him from the look in his eyes.

Smiling, she reaches over to him and gently takes his hand, making him abandon the overflowing coffee mug he was still clinging to, without rinsing, to the sink, “Yeah.” She breathes quietly, nodding, “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it for a little while now.”

She admits quietly, flushing as he moves away from the sink to stand directly in front of her, his hands resting gently on her knees, his eyes never leaving his, a look of pure disbelieving delight on his face as he peers intently up at her.

“I’m happy with you.” She says quietly, “And not, not just being in a relationship with you I mean being around you. When you’re here I feel safe, I feel loved, I feels good.” He presses a soft kiss to her forehead at that and nods to indicate that he feels the same way about her, “When I go back to work I want to be able to come home to you again. And not to a phone call with you.” She adds, draping her arms around his neck and leaning forwards to kiss him, “I want to come back to the real thing.”

That makes him smile quietly, then he pauses a moment and says quietly, “What about Vegas? I thought you loved it here.”

“I did.” She says, “I, I do. A part of me does anyway.” Taking a deep breath she wraps her arms tightly about him and make shim shuffle in even closer to her, standing in between her legs, pressed right up against the counter, “I loved Vegas, I loved what it represented, what it gave me when I needed it most. A way of Seattle, a place with too many memories that were just going to hurt me after we separated and I lost my job. It was a second chance, and I’ll always love it for that but...”

She pauses a moment, biting her lip and trying to decide how to phrase her next few sentences, finally, she settles and ploughs on decisively, “I loved the chance to be able to get back in the game up here. I loved the people that I worked with. I loved this condo too...But I’ve been here for four years and it’s never, never _really_ felt like home for me.” She tells him softly, hoping he can understand, “Not the way that Seattle was, not that way that our home felt.”

Letting herself smile at the softening she sees in his eyes she pulls him against her and kisses him once more, his hands sliding a little higher up her thighs, steadying himself as she does so, “That’s what I want.” She murmurs to him, “I want to go home. I want to go home with you. I want a new start for us. Away from this place and everything that happened here.”

A faint shiver runs through her and he reaches around behind her, scooping her forwards a little to enable him to properly rub her back and calm her down, “I’ve loved being here, really.” She says, nodding earnestly, “And I have some great memories. But there are too many bad ones that are clouding it all out. When I ran away from Seattle I ran away from us, from the friends I wouldn’t be able to look at the same way again from the reminder of what I had, what I’d lost. I knew I couldn’t along the beach without remembering the time you took me for ice cream, or visit or any of the restaurants without remembering our dates or go to any our bars to pick up without thinking of you teaching me how to play pool properly.”

He nuzzles in gently against her neck and she runs her fingers through his hair, her breath hitching slightly as she presses on firmly, “I didn’t want to be reminded of the good times. So I came here instead. It was what I needed at the time, to get away. But I’ve never been able to fully settle here and commit to this town. It’s not a town that’s built on commitment.” A soft little smile brushes his lips at that and he nods quietly, understanding and inviting her to go on, “And too much has happened.” She says, her voice shaking slightly now, “There are too many bad memories here. And I could stay. I could fight them. But I’m tired of fighting, Mike.” She admits softly, shaking her head, “I’m tired of everything I do being shadowed by ghosts that I don’t want to think about anymore.”

Taking a deep breath she braces herself and hitches a smile onto her lips again as he starts to look concerned, “I want something new. I want to get away from that. I want to be somewhere I feel safe, somewhere I feel happy. Somewhere I can stop fighting and stop running and just live.” She nuzzles against him, rubbing noses with him and pressing her lips to his before she repeats quietly, “I want to go home. With you.” Pausing she lets her eyes flutter open then she asks suddenly, the thought just striking her for the first time and sewing doubt in the foundations of all of her carefully constructed arguments, “If you want that too?”

Leaning in he kisses her long and slow and deep and growls softly in her ear, “I do.” Curling an arm around behind her waist and tugging her even closer towards him, his fingers rising even higher up her leg until she gasps faintly, “I really do.” He whispers softly in her ear before dragging his lips down to softly kiss her neck, making her wrap her arms around him and cling to him, burying her face in at the crook of his neck, hiding a smile against his skin. 

****

 


	29. Home

_ Part 29 – Home _

 

Standing with her hands braced on her hips she glances around the apartment, their apartment again. They’ve managed to combine all of her things with all of his things and it doesn’t look like his anymore, it looks like theirs, it looks like home again. 

Glancing behind her as he brings in one last box stuffed full of her books and sets it down in the corner, looking around to see where she’s gone to. She pads over towards him and slides her hand wordlessly through his, coaxing him out of the room and overcoming his irritation and leaving things unfinished in favour of spending time with her, which eventually wins out.

She leads him all the way out onto the balcony and walks right out until her body is pressed up against the rail and she can’t go any further. A slow smile spreads across her face as she takes in the view she once knew and loved so well that’s hers once more.

He steps in behind her and gently places his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her head and snuggling her in against him, his hands crossing protectively across her stomach, pulling her in tighter against him.

They stand together and watch as the sun slips down beneath the water, which was always her favourite thing to do with him and feels him lean down and very gently kiss her cheek, murmuring softly in her ear, “Welcome home, Jules.”

Turning in his arms she looks up at him, sliding her hand behind his neck and guiding him down towards her, standing on her toes and kissing him deeply, ready for whatever happens next with him, feeling as though she’s finally back where she belongs, with the person she belongs with and the memories that dogged her in Vegas can finally be put to rest in the past.

All she cares about now is what happens next and she fully intends on spending whatever it is that comes her way with the man who’s arms are now wrapping so tenderly around her body.

END

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> this was a marathon from start to finish but I had a lot of fun writing it and I hope you like it!


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